


Fractured

by quantum_leek



Series: Shattered Dreams [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst and Feels, Cute, Depression, Family, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Father Figures, Father-Daughter Friendship, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hints of Relationships to Come, Hurt/Comfort, Noctis Twin, Noctis has a sister, Original Character(s), Sibling Bonding, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Twins, Young Noctis, dad!Regis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2018-12-11 12:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 49
Words: 136,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11714196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantum_leek/pseuds/quantum_leek
Summary: This is the story of a family torn asunder by the death of a father, and everything that came before. Featuring dad!Regis and a twin sister for Noctis.This fic is two stories twisted together: one follows the game's timeline and tells the story of a prince and princess coming to terms with death and destiny, while the other is the story of their lives before and everything that leads up to the beginning of the game. As such, it features all of the chocobros and associated game-time characters, but also pre-game characters, like Regis and Clarus (Cor, Nyx, and others occasionally mentioned, but I don't tag them because they play small parts).Warnings: Depression, mild references to a suicide attempt, thoughts of suicide.





	1. Departure

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism welcome and encouraged both on completed and ongoing works.
> 
> Happy reading.

######  _13 May, 756:_

_(Three days before)_

“Something is wrong.”

Had Noctis ever composed a list of phrases he never wanted to hear his twin sister say, that one would have been right up at the top, followed closely by ‘Do your own work, Noctis’. Both of them sent cold tendrils of dread twisting up through his chest, as if he had missed a step going down and then plunged straight into an ice cold bath.

“What?” He spit the word out with nothing attached; he could just as well have asked half a dozen speculative questions, but that would have added fuel to the fire. Or ice to the bath, as the case may have been.

Reina was kneeling on her seat in the car between him and Gladio, her forearms resting along the back as she stared down the stretch of street, watching it lengthen between the Regalia and the Citadel. There was a furrow on her brow and a storm in her eyes. To look at her, one would have thought she expected never to see it again; the Citadel had been home to her for nearly twenty-one years. A few years longer than Noct, who had escaped from all the pomp and splendor as soon as he was permitted to.

“With Father.” She didn’t look at him. She just kept looking back, as if she could still see the king standing there, even though the steps were already fading and obscured by too much space.

Noctis let out a breath. The goosebumps subsided; he felt a little bit warmer. Never had he been so relieved to hear his sister talk about their dad.

“Oh. I thought you meant something real.” Noctis shut his eyes and leaned his head back, coaxing his pulse back down to a normal rate.

“I mean it, Noctis! Didn’t you notice?” This time she did turn. She shifted her body to face him, the storm in her eyes turning to fire in the second it took.

Unfortunately, there was very little space to kneel sideways in the middle seat of the Regalia, and it very nearly put her in Gladio’s lap. Gladio, for some reason, apologized for this while trying to fit all of his bulk into half the space. Reina sat down in her own seat.

“Notice what?” Noctis groaned.

“ Father .”

“Don’t usually pay that much attention. You seem to have it covered—ow!” Noctis rubbed his ribs where she had jabbed him. How she could make a single finger into a dagger without any magic he never had reasoned out.

“He was… worried.” Reina faced forward, finally, folding her arms across her chest. The orientation change didn’t stop her from shooting him a sideways glare. “And you were insufferable.”

“He’s always like that,” said Noctis.

“The same could be said of you,” Ignis observed from the front of the car.

“No one asked you, Specs,” Noctis said, unperturbed.

“He is not! He isn’t usually so grave—you didn’t think that seemed weird? And he kept calling us back. Like he wanted to say something else but… couldn’t.”

“Ugh, give it a rest, Reina.” Noctis shut his eyes again. “If you’re going to do this all the way to Altissia, I’m putting headphones in.”

He opened one eye just far enough to see the mutinous look that his twin sister gave him. Her jaw was set so tight that for a moment he feared her head would split in two. But only for a moment. Then he imagined how much quieter it would be and the possibility wasn’t such a bad one.

Noctis turned to look over the side of the convertible as they sped across the bridge that cut over all of outer Insomnia and led straight outside the Crown City. Below them, buildings of cement and glass jutted up into the air, as if reaching for the bridge. It was just possible to make out some of the more brightly lit signs; there wasn’t much reputable in the outer portion of the capital city, but it was all so closely packed together that it just looked interesting.

The Regalia slowed as they approached the west gate. It was always closed and guarded; not many people went through it or, he suspected, wanted to. But there was no trouble with their departure and, in a few moments, Noctis and his friends found themselves on the other side of the Wall, speeding away from the only home he had ever known. He leaned forward in his seat as they passed through; beyond was a great stretch of road with nothing on either side. He’d never seen so much nothing. There weren’t even trees.

Reina turned in her seat and watched the gate close behind them, chewing her bottom lip. When it was closed she turned back around. In spite of the fact that her head was still intact, she remained quiet. Mad at him, most likely. Noctis glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She sat facing forward, but her eyes weren’t on the road. They were on her hands clasped in her lap. She dragged her thumb over the opposite palm, squeezing one hand in the other and then switching; a constant sort of motion, like she was trying to wash something unsettling off her hands.

“I want to go back,” she whispered, not looking up.

“Huh? What for?” Noctis faced her.

She shook her head wordlessly. Predictable. Barely out of Insomnia and she was already homesick. He was the one that should have been nervous; it was his wedding they were on their way to. An arranged, political marriage, perhaps, but a wedding all the same. Mostly he avoided thinking about it.

Noctis leaned back in his seat and looked to the desert, “Dad told you to stay with me, anyway. He’d just send you away if you went back.”

She turned to look at him and he realized with a start that her eyes were red-rimmed and over-shiny. Her mouth was set in a tight line, like she was afraid her lips would tremble if given the freedom to.

Noctis sat up, eyes widening. “Hey. Dad’ll be fine without you for a few days, seriously—and we’ll be back before you know it.”

“Yeah…” Reina rubbed at her eyes and faced forward again. She didn’t look like she believed him.

Noct sighed. He could make fun of her for being homesick all he wanted, but he knew that being away from Insomnia wasn’t the real problem. And besides, it took all of the fun out if she was actually upset. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a sideways hug. She stayed there.

“We get to see more of Lucis, and go to Altissia…” Noctis listed off a few of the things he and the other three had discussed the night before.

“And eat Ignis’ cooking…” Prompto chimed in.

“See Noctis in a wedding dress…” Gladio said.

“You wish,” Noctis scoffed.

Reina laughed. Mission accomplished. Noct shot Gladio a lopsided smile over her head before she sat up.

“It’s been some while,” Ignis said after a moment, “Do you remember the last time you saw Lady Lunafreya?”

“About twelve years ago.” He remembered the last time he had seen her down to the last glimpse: the world wreathed in flame and a dozen Magitek soldiers closing in on them, blocking her from from view.

“That would make you… eight? You were kids,” Prompto commented.

“Hope she hasn’t gotten her hopes up,” said Gladio.

“Why not?” Noctis asked.

In the driver’s seat, Prompto laughed, not quite as focused on the road as Noctis and the other four passengers would have liked. He was going to get them all killed before they even hit Hammerhead.

“Calm yourself,” Noct said.

“Try and keep it together when you meet her,” Gladio told Noctis.

“She’ll expect to see a fine young prince,” Ignis added.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Noctis said.

“We don’t have time for all that,” Ignis commented. “But this is your wedding we’re talking about, Noct.”

“Knew that, too.”

Prompto chortled again.

“You really gotta calm down,” said Noct.

“How do you feel about it?” Ignis pressed.

Everyone always wanted to know how he felt about things. Did it really matter? Under the treaty with the empire, he was getting married to Luna and his feelings weren’t going to change that.

“Dunno.”

But if he was perfectly honest, he was both excited and apprehensive to see her again. For the last twelve years all he’d had to remember her by were messages in a book passed back and forth. He certainly wasn’t the same person he had been at eight, but he had a hard time picturing her as anything she hadn’t always been: beautiful, brilliant, confident, and wise well beyond her years. What would she think of him, now? At least twelve years ago he’d had the whole ‘cute child’ thing in his favor. Even without any redeeming qualities, that was something. Now he didn’t even have that.

“You haven’t even thought about it, have you?” Asked Gladio.

Reina caught Noct’s eye. She was the only one who knew any of that; she had guessed at his feelings back then and teased him endlessly. Recently, though, she had stopped. When he had heard the treaty decision a month ago, Reina hadn’t asked Noct how he felt about marrying her. She had just shared her soda with him and said ‘she’ll still like you.’

And now they were in a car with his friends and she had a big mouth and the perfect opportunity.

Reina opened her mouth.

“Don’t,” Noctis warned.

She shut it again and flashed him a mischievous smile.

“Don’t what?” Gladio asked.

“Nothing,” said Noctis before she could get another word in.

“Does your sister know all your secrets, Noct? Tell us. Tell us! ” Prompto bounced in his seat. Noctis sent a silent prayer to any Gods that were listening to see them safely to the next driver-change.

“Me? Betray my darling brother? I would never.”

“Yeah, right,” Noct groaned. Next thing she would be demanding things from him in payment for her silence.

Prompto laughed again. The Regalia wobbled in her lane.

“Prompto—” There was a bang before Noct could tell him to drive properly or let Ignis drive. A cloud of black smoke issued from the back of his father’s car.

“Uh… uh-oh,” said Prompto, looking down at the unresponsive pedals.

“What do you mean ‘uh-oh’?” Gladio asked.

“I think I know,” Noct sighed.

 


	2. Dark Omens

######  _13-17 May, 756:_

Three days.

Three days since they had left Insomnia behind, against Reina’s better judgement. The first day the Regalia had broken down and they pushed it to Hammerhead. It didn’t bode well. The rest of the day had been spent on the hunt: chasing down varmints for Cid’s granddaughter so they could afford to pay for repairs. It was strange, having to work for money or services for the first time in their lives. That wasn’t to say that Reina had never worked before, but this was certainly a different sort, and all day her mind was filled with distracting thoughts.

Had the imperials arrived in Insomnia, yet? How was the king faring without her? Would Clarus really take care of him properly, or would her father simply brush off his concern?

She wasn’t much help in the hunt. When her mind was miles away, it was difficult to pay attention to what was happening around her. More than once Gladio yanked her out of the path of a charging sabertusk.

Whenever there _was_ was a moment, she sent a text to her father with some sort of update. He didn’t respond, which only made her more worried, but she tried to remain sensible. He was probably very busy.

At night they camped. It was a strange sort of thing, camping. After a day of running through the dirt and sweating in the sun she was more than ready for a shower, but there was none to be had. It almost seemed pointless to change into clean clothes when she felt so dirty, still, herself. There was also just the one tent for five people, and they were more or less sleeping on bare stone in sleeping bags. The only one redeeming point was that Ignis somehow managed to make high quality food with nothing but a camp stove and what little food they had brought along.

Reina laid on her back in the tent, trying to forget how uncomfortable she was. Everything was painfully sharp and clear, from the rocks that dug into her back to the too-loud chirp of crickets outside the tent. Still wearing her day-clothes, wedged between Noctis and the canvas wall, and feeling terribly unclean and disheveled, the princess couldn’t remember the last time she had been in such disagreeable conditions. She had _never_ slept on the floor before; she wasn’t sure that she had ever even gone so long without a shower; there was dirt _everywhere_ and…

And worst of all, she missed _him_.

She held her phone in both hands, clutched against her chest. Her eyes were held open—though it certainly hindered her halfhearted attempt at sleep—because she was afraid the tears would fall if she shut them. When was the last time she had slept so far away from her father?

Her phone chimed.

Reina’s heart skipped a beat. She nearly dropped it on her face in her haste to look at the message.

It was from her father.

She slipped out of the tent, past the sleeping boys, and moved barefoot across the cold stone outside, dialing her father’s number as she went. It rang for too long. He had just sent her a text—surely he had his phone right beside him. She counted rings, not breathing as she waited.

_One…._

_Two…._

_Three…._

_“Reina.”_

She let out a breath and the sound was half a sigh of relief, half a sob. A tear ran down her cheek before she could stop it.

“Father,” she breathed. Words couldn’t express the comfort it gave her to hear his voice.

She dropped into one of the camp chairs while they spoke in quiet tones, each filling in details from the day while avoiding the uncomfortable topic of Niflheim and the treaty. Reina fell asleep in that chair; neither one of them hung up. When she woke to the dawn, her phone had slipped from her fingers and the call was dropped, but there was a text from her father.

_Sleep well, little princess._

The next night was much the same, excepting that she didn’t even try to lay down in the tent first. She just curled up in a chair while the others retired, holding tight to her phone and waiting for his text before she called.

And now the third night arrived.

Whatever Father had planned for them getting to Altissia, Reina was willing to bet it didn’t include three days of idling. Though, it hadn’t been entirely idle. There had been the Regalia breaking down and the hunter and the hunt and the fact that the ferry to Altissia wasn’t working anymore, and running errands and making connections until finally they had passage aboard a boat in the morning. Supposedly. Only time would tell if the journalist could be trusted.

But all the same they took rooms in Gauldin Quay until morning. For the first time in three days Reina had a hot showered and washed away what seemed like a solid inch of dirt and grime. She put on clean clothes—never had she appreciated the feeling of clean clothes so much, before—and sank onto a real bed.

There were two bedrooms in the suite of rooms, one holding one bed and the other two. Noctis laid claim to the single room, announcing loudly that he needed the space to himself. The others rolled their eyes; Reina didn’t care enough to comment. They gave her one of the beds in the double room—and she was thankful for that, after sleeping two nights in a chair. After a brief debate, Ignis ended up sharing the double room with her while Gladio and Prompto took couches. Distantly she wondered if the argument was _for_ or against sharing a room with her, but she was too preoccupied to ask.

Instead she dropped onto her bed, giving a sigh of contentment at feeling a real mattress again, and held onto her phone, waiting. For the past two nights it had been around ten that he had finally texted her. Yesterday the imperials had arrived. Every day they spent in Insomnia took its toll on everyone. But soon she would hear her father’s voice again and know they had all made it through one more day.

The minutes ticked by. She held her phone and watched the glowing numbers count up toward eleven. Where was he? Surely not still in council, so late. Clarus was meant to be watching over him.

The later it grew the more restless she became. She could hear Ignis breathing slowly—already asleep—in the other bed. Her mind raced through possibilities, terrible and dark, and her heart pounded fit to burst. When the glowing numbers on her phone read eleven, she made up her mind to call him.

She hesitated only a moment, staring at the king’s picture on the glowing screen before touching the number and pressing her phone to her ear. He would answer, she knew. He had probably just gotten busy, or perhaps he had been so tired that he had fallen asleep before sending her a message. But he slept beside his phone. If she called it would wake him. He _would_ answer.

She counted the rings.

_One…._

_Two…._

_Three…._

Her mind filled in the click of his phone, the sound of his voice on the other end:

 _Reina_.

Just as he had answered after the third ring the night before, and the night before that.

But in her ear, instead, she heard the fourth ring.

_Four…_

Voicemail.

Her heart stopped beating. Or perhaps it beat so rapidly that one was no longer distinguishable from the other. She hung up and stared at her phone, dumbfounded, shocked, _terrified_. He hadn’t answered. She called again to the same effect: four rings and no answer. No voice on the other end, no father saying her name and assuring her that everything in Insomnia was still alright.

Panic gripped her. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She couldn’t breathe but she didn’t sob, didn’t make a sound. She just clutched at her phone, desperate, and prayed he would call her back.

He never did.

Eventually she cried herself to sleep, sick with fear and too exhausted to hold her eyes open anymore.

Images from the Crown City of Insomnia played before her shut eyes. Her father and General Glauca of Niflheim, the man in the magitek armor, which smoldered where the king’s lightning struck it. But it didn’t break. And the king’s formals offered no protection against a blade. She watched her father’s face, his skin splattered with blood, as his eyes turned glassy and unfocused.

“Father—!”

**“Reina?”**

She didn’t remember sitting up. In fact, she didn’t remember having been asleep in the first place. But there she was sitting in a bed in Gauldin Quay, miles from home with her hands outstretched as if she would catch him. Her heart pounded in her chest, so hard she was sure it would burst through.

“ _Reina_.”

Ignis’ face floated into view. He grasped her shoulders and met her gaze, evidently trying to ascertain whether or not she was actually awake.

“I… I need to…” Reina struggled to find her thoughts while forming words. She pulled away from him, still unfocused and half-dazed. Her phone was lost in the bed, where she had dropped it when she sat up in her sleep. She retrieved it, motions frantic with panic. The digits on the screen flashed the time—four AM—five hours since she had tried to call him, six since the time he _should_ have messaged her. But there was no text from him, no missed call, not indication that he had seen _her_ messages.

She called him again, this time without hesitation. It was two hours before he would wake, but for this she would wake him early. He would answer. She would hear his voice and know— _know_ he was still alive.

She pressed the phone to her ear and counted the rings.

_One…._

_Two…._

_Three…._

Tears gathered in her eyes, her heart beating faster with every passing ring. He would answer. He had to answer. She could hear his voice already.

 _Reina_.

 _Four…_ and voicemail.

She hung up and tried again, frantic, determined that _he would answer_.

But he didn’t.

She shook her head. The tears fell.

“No… no, no, _no, no, NO!”_

“Reina!”

There was Ignis, wrapping his arms around her, more real than anything else around her. She could feel his warmth enveloping her, solid and safe. For an instant everything around her dimmed. There was no Gauldin, there was no Niflheim, there were no unreturned calls, there was just a soft bed and a firm hold. His cheek pressed to the top of her head and she could breathe again. She clung to him, anchoring herself, but when she opened her eyes she was still miles from home.

“We have to go back. We _have to go back_ —if we leave now maybe… maybe we can still stop it.”

“Stop what? What did you dream, Reina?” Miraculously, Ignis’ voice was still that calm, even tone. She wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than panic.

“Father—I-I saw him die,” she said, voice cracking as she looked up at Ignis. “He’s not answering… we have to go back.”

Reina held to his arms, looking at him with the unspoken plea on her face. There was no urgency about him, but she knew he was thinking. Ignis was always thinking. And tonight he was thinking about the Lucian princess—the one who couldn’t do any of the things that the royal line was supposed to be able to do, the one who couldn’t summon weapons or phase or throw fire from her hands, but sometimes, _sometimes_ , she had eerily accurate haunches. Sometimes her dreams came true.

“There are three possibilities,” Ignis said levelly, pushing his glasses up and fixing her with that even, cool gaze that _almost_ made her heart calm for a moment. “The first is that your dream is of something that has already occurred, the second is that it is _yet_ to occur, and the third—albeit less likely—is that it was just a dream, correct?”

Reina swallowed hard and nodded. How could he be so _calm_?

“If it has occurred then leaving immediately will not help. If it has _yet_ to occur then leaving immediately would have us charging blindly into what could well be a volatile situation. We should wait and learn—”

“But what if it happens while we’re waiting?!”

“Then I daresay we would not make it in time, anyway,” Ignis said. “I will go down to the lobby and see if I cannot learn what—if anything—has passed in Insomnia.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

“Of course.”


	3. A Window in Time

######  _Spring, 744:_

_(Twelve years before)_

Reina couldn’t honestly have claimed that the first of the dreams was the worst, but for twelve years it was certainly the most disorienting. Those were the days when she was still too young to find the language to explain things she didn’t even understand, herself. How could an eight year old describe what it meant to know that reality wasn’t just one thing? That two things could both be true, even if they were contradictory? She hardly knew how to explain it twelve years later, let alone the first time. But after Tenebrae, no one ever contradicted her when she said it hadn’t just been a dream.

In those days, the prince dreamed of monsters and fire because that was what he had seen. No one expected any less from an eight year old who had experienced such trauma; those things he had seen were enough to give a grown man nightmares.

When the princess dreamed of fire everyone assumed it was the same source. She hadn’t seen everything he had but she had been nigh inseparable from him ever since. Even before, the twins had been as close as siblings could be—they had their squabbles but often they were so in touch with the other that it was hard to justify treating them as different people. So now, after a week of staying at Noctis’ side through nightmares and moments of panic, it only seemed to make sense that she would experience much the same.

Sympathetic nightmares, the others called them.

Though it was difficult to explain some of the differences between her nightmares and his, there seemed few other rational explanations. Harder, though, than the differences, were the similarities between what the young princess described and something she had never seen before.

######  _18 April, 744:_

_(Twelve years before)_

They came from the skies, falling thick and heavy like the hail that shattered windows in Insomnia, sometimes. When they landed, the earth trembled in response. Overhead, engines roared and the black ships that brought them hung in the air.

It was a scene she would never forget, played out before her eyes. She could see everything in sharp focus—too real to be just a dream. She could see the seams in their metal faces, each one identical to the last, each one wearing an empty gaze that glowed red.

There were screams, but Reina’s voice didn’t join them. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she couldn’t find it. Her limbs had turned to stone. Her chest, clenched tight, wouldn’t let in a single breath, let alone enough air to power her voice.

Louder, still, than the screams were the guns. She had never heard one before, but she would never forget the sound after that day: a crack that echoed long after the bullet had landed. The first one made her flinch, the second had her cowering with her hands over her ears. All she could see was the dirt, then: not the men with empty eyes, nor the chaos they caused as people swarmed like ants fleeing a storm.

“Reina—!”

So she didn’t see the one that advanced on her with weapons raised. She didn’t hear the voice calling her name until Ravus was practically on top of her. But she couldn’t fail to notice the arm around her waist, flinging her back and out of the way. The dirt cut her palms when she fell. She looked up to see him standing between her and one of them.

“Run, Reina! Find your father!”

Another shot cracked and echoed. Reina flinched. Ravus cried out. When she could see again, he was on his knees, clutching his arm.

“Ravus!” Her voice returned, but it sounded tiny and insignificant, drown out by the screams and gunfire.

“ _Run!_ Don’t look back, Reina, just _run_!”

She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to turn away, let alone leave him behind without ever seeing him again. But it was the sort of instruction she wasn’t allowed to think twice about. Her feet turned on their own; somehow she didn’t trip over them. She fled.

There were flames all around, engulfing all that had once been green and silver. Hot, dry air scorched her face and singed her hair. Black smoke stung her eyes—made them water. It didn’t matter because there were tears streaming down her soot-darkened face, anyway. She couldn’t find her father. She couldn’t see anything at all, save smoke and embers. They hit her skin, hot, left dark holes in her dress.

“ _Father!_ ” The little cry was swallowed up by the roar of flames. He would never hear her. And she would never find him.

Tears streamed hot and continuous down her cheeks, leaving clean streaks on her dirty cheeks. Though she turned this way and that, she couldn’t see him—she couldn’t see _anyone_ except the empty men.

“Father...” She cried again, more sob than plea this time, as her knees gave out. She hit the ground once more, covering her head with her arms.

Hands grasped at her. The Empty Men.

Reina’s breath caught.

“No— _No!”_ She struggled for freedom, all the while cursing herself. How had she been so _stupid_? Ravus told her to run, not to sit in the dirt and cry!

**Reina.**

It was her father’s voice, but it seemed to be all around—sounding inside her mind, rather than in her ears.

**Look at me, Reina. Just me, nothing else.** **_See me_ ** **.**

Her father’s voice meant safety and protection. But right now it also meant doing what she was told—she _always_ did what he told her to.

She shut her eyes. The screams, the roar of the fire, the sound of guns all faded away. The king’s voice was the loudest thing, the most _real_ thing. The heat of the fire became a gentle warmth at her cheeks; the hands that held her became firm and protective rather than forceful.

She opened her eyes.

 

_(two weeks earlier):_

“Father…?" 

There was his face. The only thing she could see in the dark. He had found her. Somehow, through everything, he had come for her and now she was safe.

“Just me.” His voice was that low, round sound, all-encompassing and all-ending. She sagged forward against him, eyes shut once more, and he wrapped his arms around her.

When she opened her eyes again, the fires were gone along with all the empty men. Indeed, the forest was gone as well. She was sitting in a bed in Fenestala Manor.

She felt a hand against her back and heard her brother’s voice.

“Was it a dream, Rei?”

_Was_ it a dream? It couldn’t have been, surely. She had felt everything as clearly as she felt his hand, now, as she felt her father’s chest—heard everything as clearly as she heard their voices. Maybe _more_ clearly. She remembered going to bed in Tenebrae earlier that night… or had it been that night at all? She remembered, just as well, being outside with Ravus. Which one was real? Which was the dream?

Reina shook her head. She had no idea what it was, but it hadn’t been a dream. Not like he meant.

“It was just a dream, right, Dad?” Noctis asked.

“Yes, it was a dream. Just a dream, Reina.”

She could hear her father’s voice rumble in his chest, she could feel his hand on her back, moving slowly, soothingly. But it didn’t feel any more real than what had happened outside.

_Just a dream_.

That was what he told her that night, what they told everyone the following morning. In the silvery light of Tenebrae during the day, she almost believed it. But as she stood in the same spot and saw the trees whole and unsinged, saw the skies clear of black ships and red engines, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all real.

And when she slept again, later, she _knew_ it was real. Inescapably real, down to every last detail, completely indistinguishable from any other real she had ever experienced. That she woke in her own bed once more to have her father and the others tell her it was not so was only more frustrating. It was _real_ , it was _true_ —but so was the world in which everything was still intact and content. How could she possibly explain that both things were real when everyone else only saw one?

They learned the other was real two weeks later, when the Empty Men fell from the skies and set Tenebrae ablaze. Just as they had done every time before.


	4. Ill Tidings

######  _17 May, 756:_

_(Five hours after)_

Reina padded barefoot out of the room, numb and rubbing tears from her cheeks. Ignis caught up to her before she left the suite; she might not have noticed that he did at all if he hadn’t put his coat over her bare shoulders. She glanced up at him with what she hoped was a grateful smile. More likely than not it was actually a grimace. It was hard to smile when reality felt as if it was crumbling around her.

It was pre-dawn but the sky was beginning to grow light. Perhaps it would have been beautiful to watch the sun rise over the ocean, but now it was just a reminder of the passing time. Only a few people were about: some staff and an over exuberant guest or two. None of them had news, but promised to let them know immediately if anything came through. So Reina stood on the deck and stared at the horizon, pulling Ignis’ coat more tightly around herself.

Time moved simultaneously too slowly and too quickly. She hated idling there. What if Niflheim was attacking _now_ ? The thought caused panic to rise up in her chest, like a daemon’s black claws reaching out and clutching her heart until she couldn’t breathe anymore, but there was nothing they could do except wait. Ignis was right. Going back right now likely wouldn’t help anyone. But _oh_ how she hated feeling so useless!

The sun was above the horizon by the time someone brought them a newspaper. The headline stopped her heart.

_Insomnia Falls_

Reina snatched the paper from Ignis’ hands, her widening eyes skimming the column. The words seemed to burn into her mind: _when the smoke about the Citadel had cleared, the king was found dead._

_...the king was found dead._

_...dead._

“No…” Her vision blurred and the tears fell again. She looked up at Ignis, desperate for some confirmation that it was all a lie. “It has to be wrong. It _can’t_ be—it was just a dream.”

But every newspaper that came into Gauldin Quay said the same thing. Every channel on the radio; Insomnia fell to the empire over that _idiotic_ treaty. But even _if_ that was true, maybe the rest wasn’t. Maybe he was still alive; maybe it had all just been a terrible dream. It _had_ to be a dream. Because she couldn’t imagine a world where she never saw her father’s face again, where she never felt his arms around her again, or heard him call her ‘my dear’ with that little smile, like whatever stupid little thing she had done made his life that much better.

She _couldn’t_.

Everyone was awake when they returned. The tears had stopped coming, replaced with numb emptiness and an increasingly desperate sense of denial.

“What’s up? What happened?”

She heard her twin’s voice but couldn’t find her own. Likely she looked like death; that was how she felt, at least. Whatever explanation followed she didn’t pay much attention to. She just folded into a chair and stared at her hands, still wearing Ignis’ coat and shaking compulsively. It wasn’t cold.

She registered Noctis’ voice, angry and sharp, Ignis’ would-be calm, but her mind didn’t record any words until the ones ‘go back to Insomnia’ floated through her ears. She looked up, glancing between the others. If they could just _see_ —maybe it wasn’t real, maybe it wasn’t too late.

“Might not be safe for us there,” said Ignis.

“Might not be safe for us _here_ ,” Prompto said.

There was a pause of consideration. Reina’s eyes flicked between Prompto and her brother; they _would_ go back.

“Turn back?” Gladio asked at length.

Noctis met her gaze. She nodded the affirmative.

“Yeah,” said Noctis.

They bickered all the way back to Insomnia, Noctis and his friends. Noctis was afraid and he hid it behind anger. He snapped and he growled and he shouted, but Reina knew it was all because he was just as scared as her.

For her part, Reina couldn’t muster the will to be angry at anything or anyone. She sat mutely in the back of the Regalia between Noctis and Gladio, staring at the rain on the windshield without really seeing it. She thought very hard about nothing at all. It took all the concentration she had. If she had stopped for a moment, let herself think a single thought, she knew it would have been of her father. And that was too painful. Besides, she didn’t want to be reduced to tears in a car full of her brother’s friends.

There were Imperials all the way to Insomnia. Dreadnaughts flew overhead with their engines blazing red as fire, just like in Tenebrae, all those years ago, all those times she had seen the same day. When they reached the west gate to Insomnia, it was only to encounter more—Magitek soldiers lined up ten deep in a blockade. There was no way into the city.

“Let’s make a detour.” Ignis swerved onto a dirt road leading north, “There ought to be a decent vantage point up ahead.”

He pulled the Regalia off the road; they were off into the rain to find the lookout, but Reina paused, glancing back at the Regalia and immediately wishing she hadn’t. It was their father’s car. He had sent it with them, to see them safely to Altissia in his stead.… and now it might have been all they had of him.

The thought jumped unbidden to her mind. She fought back tears and forced herself to turn and follow the others. He _wasn’t_ dead. He couldn’t be. Not like this. Not after so many years and _everything_.

There were more MTs ahead and they carved a path through them. Reina couldn’t even feel a sense of justice from it. She couldn’t feel anything but fear and dread. Noctis was feeling the same underneath it all. And Gladio—his father had been with theirs… but he hadn’t said a word. There wasn’t room to ask and there was no point mentioning it. Of _course_ he knew his father had been there.

The land opened up into a flat with a sheer drop, overlooking the Crown City. Smoke rose in plumes and the skyline… was it her imagination or were there whole buildings missing? She drew level with Noctis, her eyes fixed on the city. Behind them, Prompto’s phone projected a newcast.

_“...as to ceasefire discussions between the two nations, all provisional terms have been suspended in light of recent developments. Moreover, in the wake of the news of King Regis’ death, we’ve now received word that the Crown Prince Noctis, the Princess Reina, and the Oracle Lunafreya have also been pronounced dead…”_

Reina’s stomach lurched uncomfortably. It didn’t really bother her to be pronounced dead, but the words ‘King Regis’ death’ were not ones she had ever wanted to hear. Not even from a source she wasn’t willing to trust.

“Keep it on!” Gladio said.

Reina didn’t turn, but she heard the fumble behind her and the sound of Prompto’s phone hitting the ground.

“ _Don’t bother!_ ” Noctis shouted.

More anger to hide more fear, because now there was Luna’s name in the mix. Did he believe that if he shouted loud enough he would stop feeling it?

Whatever he believed, at least he had the presence of mind to try calling a new number. Reina looked around his shoulder as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Cor. Gladio had his out as well—the first and only hint that he was worried about his family inside the city.

“Hello? Cor?”

Reina’s heart skipped a beat. He had actually picked up? Someone from inside Insomnia was alive? She leaned closer, standing on her toes to press the side of her head against her twin’s so she could hear the reply.

After a beat, Cor’s voice replied.

_“So. You made it.”_

“The hell’s going on?”

_“Where are you?”_

“Outside the city. With no way back in.”

_“Makes sense.”_

“‘Makes sense’? Are you serious? What about _any_ of this makes sense?! The news just told us we’re dead, along with our father and Luna.”

_“Listen, I’m heading out to Hammerhead.”_

Noctis made a sound of anger and frustration. For a moment it seemed Cor wasn’t going to give them anything else, but…

_“About the king… it’s true.”_

For an instant there were identical expressions painted across their faces. Wide-eyed in shock as all the denial they had put up came crashing down into nothing. Noctis remained shocked, numb. Reina crumbled. She didn’t hear anything else that Cor said. Nothing else mattered. Eventually Noctis hung up his phone and fell silent.

Everything else was painfully sharp, images burned into her memory. The tendrils of smoke rising up from Insomnia in the distance—from home, from _her_ city. She could smell the smoke in the air, feel each raindrop as it hit her skin and mingled with her tears.

“No…” she breathed the word without thinking it, a denial in the face of the truth. “ _No!_ I should have been with him—I should have _stayed!_ I have to go back—I have to—”

She saw everything so clearly that it _hurt_. She knew it was stupid; her father was dead and nothing was going to bring him back. Glauca had killed him. She had seen it with her own eyes—just as real as the sights before her, now.

She should have stayed.

“Rei—

Noctis grasped her arm and she pulled away, eyes still fixed on Insomnia as she took a step toward the edge. At that moment she couldn’t think of a single thing except that she _needed_ to be with her father. One way or another.

“Reina—!”

This time her brother wrapped his arms around her. When she struggled against him he tightened his hold.

“Don’t be an idiot, Reina!” He dragged her back but lost his footing. Together they tumbled to the ground, but he never loosened his hold.

For several seconds she sat frozen, teeth clenched and tears falling in an unending stream, not breathing, not thinking.

“He told you to stay with me, remember? He said ‘keep each other safe.’”

Reina took a sharp, gasping breath and turned toward him, as silent tears turned to sobs. She shut her eyes and buried her face against his neck. The other three stood by in silence; they didn’t need to ask what Cor had said. They knew. And Reina couldn’t even find enough dignity to care that her brother’s friends were watching her lose every ounce of self respect she had ever had.

She focused on his arms around her, firm and solid and everything else faded away. She couldn’t smell the smoke from Insomnia, anymore, nor feel the cold of the rain or the stone beneath them. She breathed in his scent—clean linen and cedar—and it smelled like home.

 **“...safe,”** he said.

She had never appreciated how much he sounded like their father, until then.


	5. No Turning Back

######  _17 May, 756:_

_(One day after)_

Hammerhead was wet, like everything else, but the rain was beginning to let up. Noctis wasn’t angry anymore—not even pretending to be. There was a subdued quiet as they climbed out of the Regalia. His sister looked hollow, like she was still alive but someone had cut out her soul. He could understand that feeling, even if it wasn’t quite what he felt. She had spent her whole life following their father about, trying to become a little piece of him. Noct couldn’t say for certain if that had worked, but he did know that their father had been all of her. And now there was nothing left.

Cor wasn’t there, in spite of having told them to meet him in Hammerhead. Instead there was a message with Cid. Their first meeting had been under less than favorable circumstances, but somehow knowing that Cid had been friends with their father made him seem less… apart. Grief did that. Brought people together. If it hadn’t hurt so damn much it might have been nice.

They had the story from Cid—or as much of it as there was to be told. That the Empire had struck during the signing ceremony, taking the crystal and the Ring of the Lucii. The peace, the treaty, everything had been a lie. All for the sake of getting into Insomnia, getting past the wall. If their father had just turned them down, rejected their ridiculous proposition for peace… he would have still been alive.

That anger flared up again. It was so much better than the pain of loss—hot like a campfire on a freezing night. Anger he could work with. Anger he could act on. Loss was just hopeless emptiness with no chance of ever being filled again.

“They played my father for a fool,” Noctis said.

“Don’t kid yourself,” said Cid. “Reggie wasn’t born yesterday. Lucis got dealt a losing hand and your old man played it the best he could. He saw this coming a mile away and he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. In the end though… well, it just wasn’t enough.”

And that was that.

 

* * *

 

  
Cor, it seemed, intended to lead them on a wild goose chase. Noctis had no patience for it and his sister no energy. In the end they stayed in Hammerhead for the night. Dinner was a solemn affair, in sharp contrast to the night before, which had been filled with King’s Knight and laughter. There was some little conversation, but without much heart, and Reina sat apart. She hadn’t uttered a word since they had left the overlook.

Ignis served dinner and Noctis found he was hungry in spite of himself. His sister didn’t move. She held her phone in her hands and her eyes remained fixed on it, giving no indication that she knew the others were even there. Noctis knew for a fact she was looking through the pictures she had saved with their father in them. It sounded like torture to him, but he wasn’t going to tell her what she could or couldn’t do.

“Reina?” Ignis ventured, taking a step toward her.

“She not gonna eat,” Noctis said. “I wouldn’t bother.”

He knew it was true. The trouble was that he couldn’t say for sure if she was ever going to want to eat again. And if she didn’t he had no idea how to fix it. Nothing could really be done, after all. No one could fix that hole.

So they ate without her, leaving her plate to grow cold on the table. The sky had gone dark, but the lights from the outpost were bright. Following dinner, Noctis was prepared to go inside and fall asleep immediately—it felt as if they had done so much that day, without having done much at all—or, at least, he was prepared until Ignis drew his attention.

“Where is Reina?”

Noct turned at the words. The chair apart from their table was conspicuously empty. Where would she have gone? Where could she have gone? Back to insomnia? Not in the dark, surely. Not on her own with the night crawling with daemons. She was smarter than that, and he had already reminded her of their father’s wishes. And yet… it was the only real possibility that he could think of.

“Damn it, Reina. If you get yourself killed…” He moved toward the opposite side of Hammerhead, breaking into a run. There were a million words for her on his mind if she was still in one piece. None of them were polite.

He didn’t have far to run. On the east side of Hammerhead, just outside the fence but within the circle of light, was his sister. Every cutting remark he had thought of died on his tongue. She knelt in the dirt, evidently not caring that she was wearing a skirt, facing east toward Insomnia as she stacked a mound of gathered stones. There was no body, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t make a memorial.

Noctis stopped in his tracks, still on the pavement. The sound of footfalls told him the others had followed; he held up a hand to halt them.

“She’s fine,” Noct said, turning toward them. “I’ll stay with her. You guys get some sleep.”

They didn’t turn immediately, but Noctis didn’t linger. He crossed over the fence and crunched through the dirt toward her. She didn’t look at him, even when he sat down next to her, but she knew he was there.

There were no words, so he didn’t say any. Not for a long time. He watched her add the last of the stones to the memorial and then remove her necklace to hang atop it. It was a piece she had gotten herself—out in the mall one day. The salesman had made up some stupid pitch about it being fit for a princess. Noctis had made fun of her for it ever since, but it didn’t seem to bother her. She wore it anyway. That was just like her.

Now it was a little piece of her to leave for their father.

It might have been thirty minutes of silence, just sitting and thinking, letting his mind wander. He thought of his father and felt the fresh pain, like touching a new wound just to make sure it still hurt. He could still hardly believe it: Dad, gone. Noct always knew it would happen someday—everyone was always rubbing it in his face, telling him he needed to be ready for it. In the end it didn’t matter if he was ready or not. It didn’t change the truth.

He leaned forward, putting one elbow on his knee and tracing letters in the sandy dirt.

_Regis Lucis Caelum CXVIII_

Reina watched him without comment. The words would doubtless wash away, eventually—though it didn’t look like Hammerhead got much rain—but the point of them would stay.

Noct dug in his pockets for something to leave. He turned up two things: the charm that had been on his car keys before he passed them on to Drautos just a few days ago, and Carbuncle. He handed Carbuncle to his sister and held the charm in his palm, looking at it: a little silver crescent moon on a chain. Reina had put it on his keys last year, not long after they had gotten their cars. She said something dumb about it, but he still remembered her words.

“The moon is for Noctis Lucis Caelum—the light of the night sky, right?”

“It’s on a chain, Rei. Thanks. I’m chained. You’ve just chained me to my keys.”

She stuck her tongue out and dropped the keys into his lap. “The chain is for us. For family. You always think it’s holding you back but maybe it’s just keeping you grounded.”

Maybe it wasn’t so dumb after all.

Noct set the moon on the flat surface of one of the rocks and Reina watched him do it.

“For family,” he said.

Reina gave him a smile, but it wasn’t a happy one—that was made abundantly clear by the tear that followed.

“You want to sleep?” Noct asked.

“No,” said Reina.

“Me neither.”

They stared at the little memorial for a while longer in silence. Sleep was dark and dense with solitude; Noctis wasn’t sure he could handle being that alone, yet.

“Remember when we couldn’t sleep, way back?” Noct asked.

“We used to sneak into his room.” Her voice came out a whisper. Tears hit the dirt.

“Yeah—well. We thought we were sneaking. We were pretty bad at it,” Noct admitted.

“You were pretty bad at it.’

“I wasn’t the one who always started giggling halfway through.”

She made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “It didn’t matter, anyway. We could have slept in there every night.”

“Yeah… but then it wouldn’t have been quite the same….”

“... not quite as special.” Reina agreed.

There had been something magical about those nights: whether it was just the novelty or the knowing that, no matter how dark the night got, their father would always be there to chase it away.


	6. Monsters in the Dark

######  _Spring, 744:_

_(Twelve years before)_

They had grown up without a mother, knowing they had one only from old photographs and the occasional story. By all accounts she had been a beautiful woman and their father had loved her very much, but those were just stories, now—they didn’t matter much because she was gone and they would never meet her. More significant was the fact that, most days, they had grown up without a father as well.

Mostly it was the two of them and Sandre. The nanny was the closest they had to a mother—to a parent, really—except that everyone said your mother was supposed to love you and Sandre gave no indication that she did. She made sure they were dressed and presentable. She did Reina’s hair some mornings and told her how important it was to care for her appearance, then she made sure they made it to school on time. It was Sandre who saw to it that their lunches were packed and all of their supplies were assembled, Sandre who met them at the door when they returned to the Citadel after school, Sandre who took them to their governesses—where their afternoons were filled with more learning—and who, eventually, brought them to dinner and chided Noctis for not eating his vegetables.

Sometimes their father was at dinner and sometimes he wasn’t. The nights when he ate with them were by and far the favorite of both twins—those were the nights when Sandre was sent away and no one scolded Noct if he didn’t want to eat anything green. Those nights there was more laughter over dinner, more smiles.

But even if they went a whole day without even catching a glimpse of the king, they knew he was there and that, if nothing else, he did seem to love them. It was easy to believe that if he just loved them more he would give them more time… but deep down they both knew it wasn’t so simple.

So perhaps he had been busy that day and hadn’t had time to see them. It was disappointing, but maybe it wasn’t because he didn’t love them enough.

One thing was certain: Sandre didn’t care beyond what she was required to.

“Into bed: quick, quick!”

Reina was already there; if she had been an only child, there would never have been a second telling or reminders about punctuality. She always did it right the first time. Noctis, on the other hand, dragged his feet just to indicate that _he_ didn’t much care for _Sandre_. But he did get into bed. Eventually. She stood over him with her hands on her hips the whole time.

“There, now. Everyone comfortable?”

Noct said nothing. Reina, in her bed across the room, nodded.

“Excellent. Goodnight, children. Sleep well.”

She shut off the light and was gone. As soon as the door shut behind her, Noctis sat up and climbed out of bed. He pressed his ear against the door, listening for a moment, before turning the light back on.

Reina sat up as well, regarding him with a wide-eyed gaze and an unspoken question.

“I don’t like the dark,” he said sullenly. “And I don’t like this room.”

Reina watched him cross to her bed and pulled the blankets back for him before he reached her, anticipating his intent. He didn’t waste time wondering at how she knew; he just climbed in.

“I don’t like sleeping alone,” Reina said.

“Good.” Noct said, wrapping up in her blankets and sinking into her pillows like he belonged there. “Then we can sleep together if we can sleep with the lights on.”

Reina fixed him with a serious stare. “We have an accord.”

Noctis giggled. It was what their father always said: he could have just put his foot down and insisted that something was done, but for one reason or another he always let them negotiate.

They didn’t lay awake talking—it was increasingly frequent that they simply sat in silence, these days—but they did lay awake. Reina did it because sometimes when she shut her eyes, ever since Tenebrae, she would find herself somewhere else and it was always somewhere unpleasant or uncomfortable. Noctis did it because there were daemons in the dark and he wasn’t big enough to fight them on his own. She knew he was still awake tonight, too. She could hear it in the way he breathed.

Minutes slipped by and, eventually, Reina’s reluctance to sleep became an insurmountable difficulty. She wanted to go and sleep with her father—the idea got stuck in her head and chased around counter arguments until she was left thinking of nothing else and sleep was no longer possible. Too many nights falling asleep at the king’s side in Tenebrae had left her reluctant to do anything else; he was the one who always woke her and chased away the living dreams. If she didn’t sleep with him, who would stop her from seeing more?

The silence broke with her brother’s voice and, as was so often the case, he seemed to read her mind.

“Do you think… Dad’s back in his room?”

“I don’t know… it’s still early, but… there’s no council meeting, tonight. He might be back early,” Reina ventured. She would never have had the courage to go on her own, but perhaps with her brother at her side…

Noct didn’t ask why she knew when there were and when there weren’t council meetings; he simply took it for granted that this was the sort of thing his sister knew.

“Maybe if he’s not… we could wait,” Noct suggested.

“Yeah, we could wait…”

They stared at each other for a while, each hoping the other would lead the way. It was Reina who folded, first.

She pushed back the blankets and climbed out of bed, with Noct following close behind. They stopped at the door, both pressing their ears against it.

“I don’t hear anyone,” said Noct.

“Me neither.”

It was his turn to go first, so he reached for the handle.

“Wait—!”

If he hadn’t been much too young to have a heart attack….

“I forgot Chika!”

Reina raced back to her bed for her faithful companion: the fat little chocobo plush she had owned for as long as she could remember. When she was standing beside him with her stuffed chocobo in hand, they opened the door together.

Two near-identical black-haired heads poked out of the room and looked up and down the hall. There were Crownsguards, but no Sandre. That was the important part. The Crownsguards, in general, pretended they didn’t exist unless something bad happened. For now, Noct and Reina tried to pretend _they_ didn’t exist, themselves.

They slipped from their room, hands clasped, and crept down the hall.

Sandre wasn’t in that direction, either, but outside their father’s door, in addition to the usual Crownsguards, was an attendant. It meant two things: one good and one bad. The good news was that their father was inside. The bad news was that they had to convince the attendant that they were allowed to be there.

“Isn’t that Ignis’ uncle?” Reina whispered.

Noctis nodded, swallowing hard. They were already standing in the open: as soon as he turned his head he would see them. Telling herself it was too late to turn back, Reina urged her feet to take a step, then another. Noct stayed with her. Another dozen steps and they were standing in front of the king’s door with three pairs of eyes on them.

“Your Highnesses,” the attendant greeted them with a short bow.

“H-hello, Mr Scientia,” Noctis managed, looking at his feet.

“Can we… see Father?” Reina finished; she was actually looking up.

“If His Majesty is not otherwise occupied—just let me inquire.”

He knocked on the door, waiting for the response from within before he opened it, and stuck his head inside: “Your children, Your Majesty.”

After a pause—they couldn’t hear the king’s response—Mr Scientia pulled back to look at them, ushering them toward the room.

The twins scooted inside, still holding tight to each other’s hands, and the door shut behind them. Inside was the sitting room of the king’s suite, furnished with a pair of armchairs and a long coffee table. In one chair sat the king, the remnants of his evening meal on the table beside him. For a moment there was a look of mild surprise on his features.

“Well, now. To what do I owe this unscheduled visit?”

Noctis, never one for words when actions would suffice, dragged his sister forward—he refused to release her hand—and threw himself across his father’s lap. It seemed sufficient explanation.

“We couldn’t sleep… and we missed you, today,” Reina supplied, anyway, standing beside his chair with one hand still holding her twin’s and the other clutching Chika to her chest.

The king made a sound of understanding, smiling down at them as he lifted Noct the rest of the way into his lap, then gave Reina his hand to pull her up alongside her brother. _That_ was where they were meant to be: tangled up in an armchair with no one quite sure where one twin stopped and the other began, all wrapped up safely in their father’s strong arms.

“My sincere apologies for missing dinner,” their father said. “I had meant to be on time, but, alas….”

He sighed without giving further explanation. Something to do with the kingdom; maybe something to do with the empire. He didn’t ever really tell them and Reina wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“I missed you both, as well.” He hugged them fiercely until both children squealed under the pressure. Then he laughed and loosened his bone-crushing grip. “Not sleeping, is it? Well, it just so happens that I know precisely the cure for a sleepless night.”

Before either could ask what that was, he was rising to his feet, lifting them along with him. Noct laughed and threw his arms around the king’s neck, grinning at Reina as they were carried, one on each arm, into the adjacent room—the king’s bedroom.

“What is the cure, Father?” Reina asked.

“Patience, little princess!” He dropped the pair of them on his bed, in the most literal way possible. Reina screamed, then laughed. Noct just laughed.

The king hit the light switch by the door, turning off all but the lamp by his bed.

“Wait!” The smile faded from Noct’s face as he sat up, wide-eyed. His father halted by the door, evidently taking Noctis’ instructions to heart.

“Noct doesn’t like the dark,” Reina said.

“Oh? Well I shall leave this one—but some dark _is_ mandatory for this cure.” He retrieved the armchair from the corner by the standing clock and returned to the bed, pulling the end table with the lamp away from the wall before sitting down.

“Fear not, Noctis; the dark is not all bad,” said the king. “And I will never let anything harm you.”

Reina curled up next to Noctis, the pair of them lost among the many pillows on the king’s bed. Together they watched as their father settled himself near the light before looking over at them.

“Now, then. You watch there,” he pointed to the wall opposite the bed and passed his hand in front of the light so they could see the shadow.

“And if I can just remember… I think we can manage to have Chika out there… “

Reina watched the shadows on the wall as they transformed, impossibly, from hands to a chocobo. How had he done that!? Surely it was some sort of magic. She looked at the king, jaw loose and mouth open wide, for some indication of tom-foolery. But there was nothing. Just hands and shadows.

He caught her staring and winked at her.

“Though this chocobo, perhaps, is Chika’s more slender cousin. Your chocobo, I fear, has been indulging in too many Gysahl greens.”

Reina giggled, hugging the fat chocobo and looking back at the projection on the wall.

“Can you make _anything_ , Dad?’ Noctis looked from the wall to their father with wide eyes.

“You give me such credit. I appreciate the vote of confidence, my son. What is it you would like to see?”

“A cactuar!” Noctis said immediately.

“A cactuar. Surely you would prefer a nice rabbit…?” The king suggested hopefully. Before their eyes the chocobo became a rabbit with long ears and a quivering nose. Reina laughed; beside her Noct grinned.

“Or an anak?”

The rabbit disappeared and a long-necked creature with curving horns took its place.

“No, a cactuar!” Noctis objected, though he laughed.

“Catoblepas?”

“Wow!” Reina cried as the long-necked anak became a hulking beast with tusks and horns.

“ _Cactuar_ , Dad!” Noctis giggled.

The king sighed. “Assuredly, you do not choose the simple things. Very well, let us see…”

 They waited, watching as the catoblepas disappeared and the shadows were just hands once more. After a few false starts, there was a cactuar in its place— or a portion of one, at least. The twins cheered.

“This _is_ meant to cause sleepiness, you know.”

If that was his goal, it wasn’t overwhelmingly successful. Reina and Noct both sat upright, very much awake and eager to see more of this shadow magic. They laughed at his mock-disappointment.

“Make a coeurl, Dad!” Noctis requested.

“I can see my parenting skills at work already, yes,” the king said dryly. “A _coeurl_ , you say? Goodness, little prince. I will need… hmm, yes…”

He plucked his crown from behind his ear, holding it in one hand in front of the light. After just a moment’s delay there was a coeurl on the wall, whiskers and all. The twins erupted into cheers and applause.

The prince and princess were a wonderful audience. For all that they made outlandish and often impossible requests of their father, for every success they were amazed and enthralled. By the time he finally declared that it was time for bed and that any further shadow shows would have to wait until the following night, both of them were firmly convinced that he could make _anything_ come to life in shadows.

He didn’t send them back to their own room for bed. He tucked them into his and climbed in beside them, creating a barrier—a little bubble of safety where no bad dreams or daemons could harm them.


	7. Heritage

######  _18 May, 756:_

_(One day after)_

It was hard to say for certain when or if they slept that night. Perhaps, sometime in the predawn hours, the exhaustion from too much time awake and too many emotions felt finally caught up with them. Reina couldn’t remember the last time she had lain with her brother like that. Years, at least. That night it was the only place she _could_ lay that didn’t feel cold and empty.

In any case, regardless of whether they slept or not, Reina watched the sun rise just as she had watched the moon rise and the stars shift overhead. She was tired, but it was soul-deep. No amount of sleep would touch it. They got up all the same; the night had been filled with stories and memories, keeping each other company and filling the emptiness with thoughts of brighter days. But there were no words to keep that light burning in the morning, so everything was hollow. A hole where she should have been whole.

The twins rose from the dirt and brushed each other off. For a moment they just stood, staring at each other. There weren’t any words needed; Reina could see the resignation in her brother’s expression and she suspected she looked as empty as she felt. They were aching inside and out but there was nowhere to go but forward. So forward was where they went.

Ignis made breakfast. The smell made Reina’s stomach roll so she declined the meal once more. Eventually they were ready to climb into the Regalia and follow the trail that Cor had left for them. There was a drive with another clue at the end, a hike riddled with monsters. Reina remembered little of it. There was some news from the Crownsguard, a familiar face, but it didn’t matter. There was only one familiar face Reina wanted to see.

At the end of the trail there was the tomb of a long-dead king... and Cor. Reina felt a flicker of warmth when she saw him; a familiarity that she associated with her father. He and Cor had been close. For some reason that made it feel as if he had a little piece of the king wrapped up inside. Maybe he even felt the loss as keenly as she and Noctis did. But the more she looked at him the more the feeling faded into a new cold nothingness. Cor was all steel and sharp edges. Maybe he did hurt inside. But it didn’t hurt enough that he was reduced to nothing. It hadn’t even touched his outer shell. Maybe he would have said the way she felt meant she was weak—that _they_ were weak—but she knew better. A person could keep walking after their soul was torn out, but that didn’t mean they were still alive. If they were then it hadn’t been their soul.

“You wanna tell me what I’m here for?”

Reina let her eyes fall from Cor and refocus on her twin when he spoke. To the disconnected observer, his tone might have sounded haughty. To her it sounded tired. Hollow.

“The power of kings passed from the old to the new through the bonding of souls. One such soul lies before you. To claim your forebears’ power is your birthright and your duty as king.”

“My duty as king of what?”

“Now is not the time to question your calling. A king is sworn to protect his people.”

“And yet he chose to protect only one prince. Was that his calling, forsake the masses to spare his own son?”

Something sparked deep in the pit of Reina’s stomach. It was the first thing she had really felt through the emptiness. The first thing that wasn’t pain. She had been bad at hearing criticism of her father in the first place, but now that he was gone, now that they would never see him again, never speak to him, never hear his answers to the myriad of questions… it lit that fire in her again, stronger than ever before. She closed her shaking hands into fists; the little muscle along her jaw tensed as she ground her teeth together.

“How long will you remain the protected? The king entrusted the role of protector to you,” Cor said.

“ _Entrusted_ it to me? Then why didn’t he tell _me_ that? Why did he stand there _smiling_ as I left?!”

Reina knew, logically, that anger was how Noctis showed his grief. She knew he was just as lost and confused as she was, that he felt the pain as sharply. But logic didn’t matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was that fiercely protective impulse that filled up all the empty space inside her.

“How can you be angry with him?! He did everything for you,” Reina growled at her twin, fists still clenched.

“How can you _not_ be? He did _nothing_ for you.” Noctis didn’t miss a second with his response. He rounded on her; where only an hour ago they had been connected in their grief now they were split apart by it. “He just took everything until your whole life was _him!_ ”

Reina had never intentionally hit her brother before. Not beyond the teasing jabs. But it was the only response for his stupid, thoughtless words.

Noctis jerked back, his hand going to his jaw. Ignis stepped forward, putting one hand on her shoulder as if concerned she would try for another. She didn’t.

“You have _no idea_ . Gods. You lived with him nearly as long as I did and you don’t know the first thing about him, do you?” She didn’t try to pull away from Ignis, but she could feel his grip tightening the more her volume increased. “I made my peace with having the leftover bits of time. Because _I_ understood. I knew what he tried to give you, even if you were too damn oblivious to appreciate it yourself. I never held that against him.”

Noctis rubbed his jaw and glared at her. “Well, then, _Princess_ , why don’t you enlighten me. Seeing as you’ve spent the past four years following him around like a damn dog and filling every need he never had.”

That _did_ make her lunge forward again. Ignis stopped her from doing much more than that; he caught her other shoulder and, with his forearm across the top of her chest, deftly held her back.

“Reina—“ Ignis might have told her this whole thing was unnecessary or something equally logical. Cor interrupted.

“ _Enough_. Cease this. You two bicker like children while your kingdom burns. You father passed this to you, hoping you would find your way together. Do not disappoint him.”

It did nothing for Reina’s temper. How _dare_ he play on her worst fear? All she had ever wanted was to make her father happy and whole, to make him proud. Now Cor tried to turn that against her in her darkest moment.

“You can shut the hell up, too, Cor,” she yelled, pulling Ignis, now, digging her fingers into his arm. How could he be so skinny and still hold her back with one arm? “Don’t talk to me about what my father wanted. I _know_ what he wanted!”

As a rule, Reina didn’t shout. If she did it was at her brother and _never_ at an elder. It was no surprise, then, that Cor was stunned. But she wasn’t going to press her luck, hoping that the shock would keep him quiet for long. She rounded back on Noctis, holding onto Ignis’ arm but not pulling away anymore.

“And you—The Chosen King. The King of Light. The True King. He was _so afraid_ that you wouldn’t get to enjoy a normal life later on that he spent _everything_ trying to give you a normal childhood. I guess it worked. Because you didn’t even notice. Just like every other stupid teenage boy doesn’t notice his parents. Just a mild inconvenience.” She dropped her gaze. The fire faded into something colder as images of her father’s face swam before her eyes. When she spoke again her voice was quiet, shaking. “He gave everything. How could I be angry with him for loving you, for wanting the best for my brother? I wanted it, too.”

Ignis’ hold on her weakened when her voice cracked. She pulled away from him; he made a motion that suggested he regretted his lapse, but she stepped away, not toward Noctis but toward the door. She paused only briefly in the doorway to look back at her brother. Her eyes burned with tears but she didn’t let them fall.

“Take your royal heritage, Noct. It’s not for _me_.” She turned and left, not paying much attention to the calls behind her.

“Uh—Reina! There’re _monsters_ out there!” Prompto said it like she might have forgotten.

“I’ll follow,” Ignis said, ducking out the door behind her.

She didn’t go far. She didn’t make Ignis feel as if he needed to draw his weapon and come to her aid. She just climbed the boulder beside the tomb and sat on the overhang, hugging her legs and resting her chin on her knees. Her hand went immediately to her pocket, drawing out her cell phone and unlocking it. The home screen image was set to a picture of her and her father; she had taken it just a few months before and it had always made her smile, then. Something about how happy he looked—the ring might have been making him sick, but it never seemed to tarnish his smile. Now it hurt to look at, but she couldn’t stop herself.

It was only a moment before Ignis sat down beside her. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even tell her she shouldn’t have punched the crown prince… or was Noct the king, now?

For a long time she didn’t say anything, either. The unshed tears didn’t remain that way for long; they formed steady and silent streams down her cheeks as her gaze remained fixed, unwavering, on the screen of her phone.

They had been five when Noctis was chosen by the crystal. The king didn’t tell them, of course—not then—but there were changes. Then again, looking back, Reina didn’t remember very much _before_ five; whatever changes happened were just the baseline for her life.

At the time she didn’t understand. By the time she was old enough to understand, the damage had already been done.

Noctis. The Chosen One. Her father’s precious son.

Reina remembered their father telling Sandre off, one day, for being too hard on him. He had never done the same for Reina and, for as long as they had a nanny, he never did.

“I understand that my son can be over-exuberant, at times, but he is merely a child,” The king smoothed an affectionate hand over his son’s hair as Noct peeked out from behind him. “I should like for him to have the chance to _be_ a child.”

So Noctis had a childhood like any other boy, saving the fact that everyone called him Prince and Your Highness. When he complained about too many lessons with their governess, he was taken out of them. His afternoons following school were spent with Ignis, instead. Reina studied music. She played “Zanarkand” on the piano and “Unknown Lands” on the violin.

She never complained.

Perhaps if she had, she would have received the same treatment, but deep down she was hoping that if she accomplished something then she would be taken note of.  

When they were eight both of them learned, through Lunafreya, about the prophecy and Noctis’ destiny. He had a grand future ahead of him. He would become the king who saved the world; he would bring light in the dark. It made sense to her. Indeed, everything else made sense, afterwards, as well. She hadn’t even been jealous at the time, because by then it hadn’t really occurred to her that she could ever have anything like that.

So she had smiled; she was happy because her brother was happy. And, when it came down to it, that was what was truly important.

“I know I shouldn’t have said those things to him,” she said at length, not looking at Ignis, though she did let her phone turn itself back off. “There are things I can’t tell him about what Father did and why he did it. Someday he’ll understand.”

There was a pause. Reina guessed that Ignis was deciding whether or not to ask the question. Eventually he did.

“What things?”

She looked up at him, considering for a moment. It would have been so easy to tell him, and yet… he would bear it with him forever. Every time he looked at Noctis he would remember, like she did. It was better that he didn’t know. She would bear it on her own, now.

Reina shook her head. “You’ll understand someday, too.”


	8. Prophecy

######  _Winter, 750:_

_(Six years before)_

Not every dream was for screaming.

When she was younger they were sharp: vivid images, scattered and always charged with fear. They were Magitek soldiers leaving Tenebrae in flames. They were daemons in the dark, flashing hideous faces where they were least expected. They were fires and floods. But as she grew the dreams grew, too. They became people and places in the past, present, and future. Sometimes they left her frozen and staring at the ceiling above her bed. Sometimes she woke naturally, but without any clear sense of what was real. And some nights… some nights she woke with a sort of clarity that she never achieved in any other way.

Clarity, she learned, was worse than all the alternatives put together.

Reina woke all at once, without a sound. Her eyes were open, the bedroom around her sharp and in focus in spite of the darkness. And in her mind was a terrible truth that she had never wanted to know.

Her feet hit the cold floor. She didn’t bother to put on a robe or slippers. The walk to her father’s room wasn’t a long one. As if in a trance, she moved, her eyes shut for half of the walk. Behind her eyes were images from the dream. Normal dreams faded after waking, leaving the dreamer with only a hazy recollection if they weren’t recorded or reiterated. These dreams weren’t like that. The memories remained, day after day, week after week, just as sharply as if she had experienced everything herself. And she had, in a way.

There were crownsguards outside the king’s room, like always, but they didn’t impede her. She was a frequent enough visitor, even in the middle of the night, that it was no longer odd. The door closed behind her and she was left in the cool quiet of the sitting room attached to the king’s chambers. She didn’t hit the lightswitch, but simply moved through the open doorway to the right.

Her father was asleep. It only made sense; the great clock against the wall read some time between two and three in the morning. The only light was the city light that filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows opposite the clock, but it was enough to navigate by, especially in such a familiar space. Reina picked her way across the room and slipped beneath the blankets to join her father. It was a comforting warmth as she pressed up against him. The smell of cedar and clean linen rose up to meet her and she breathed it in. It might have been grounding if she had been floating. She wished she was. Instead she was standing square on the ground seeing so sharply that it _hurt_.

“Reina…” He didn’t usually sleep through her unscheduled visits, but she hadn’t wanted him to, anyway. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her. She didn’t quiver. She just slid her arms around his neck and hugged him, needing the touch but not the anchor.

“What have you dreamed, my dear?”

There was no need to ask why she was there. He knew. She met his gaze levelly and the king smoothed hair back from her face, then paused, noting her expression. His eyebrows lifted. Perhaps he had expected to find her teary-eyed and afraid after an unsettling vision, but this hadn’t been that sort of night.

"’When darkness veils the world, the King of Light shall come’,” she quoted the prophecy that they all knew well. “It wasn’t stated that Noctis would purge the darkness with his own life…. But you always knew.”

It wasn’t a question.

There was no missing the surprise on his face, this time. When it faded he shut his eyes and leaned forward so his forehead pressed against hers.

“Have you told him?” He asked.

“No, Father.”

His eyes opened. “Please, Reina, swear to me you never will.”

She promised without hesitation. “I swear, Father.”

He let out a breath and crushed her against his chest, pulling her along as he shifted onto his back. She lay there with her arms around his neck and her head against his collarbone for several breaths. Then she lifted up onto her elbows to look down at him.

Her father. She had never really noticed before, but he looked _tired_. There was more grey in his hair than she remembered. She touched it lightly. It had been all black six years ago; at this rate it would be all grey in two. The knowledge of her twin’s fate weighed heavily on her mind, but he had carried it for nearly ten years on his own. Not anymore.

“Now there are two of us. I will bear this with you,” She pressed her cheek against his and settled her chin on his shoulder.

He tightened his hold on her, letting out a sigh. “It is not a weight I would have willingly given you.... All the same, it is lighter for the sharing.”


	9. Reconcilliation

######  _18 May, 756:_

_(Two days after)_

It was a tense sort of quiet for the remainder of the day. Noctis chose not to speak to Reina even as they left the first royal tomb and headed for the second, but he didn’t stop thinking about what she had said. Fighting through a mine to reach a tomb was a good way to release anger, and once the anger cooled he _did_ wonder. He had said things that weren’t true. Probably she had, as well. Their father hadn’t stood there smiling when they drove away. He watched with a look in his eye like a terrible weight had settled on his shoulders. It was easy to think about in hindsight. Reina had said there was something wrong at the time, but Noct had been only too willing to assume that was just his sister fretting.

If he had listened… if he had _thought_ about it…

Father had kept calling them back. Just one more thing he wanted to say. All of them boiled down to: ‘be safe’ and ‘I love you both’ in his roundabout way. And now, knowing that he had known, it seemed too obvious. Why should he have been so insistent if they really were just going to Altissia? But Noct had pushed it all away—had foolishly pushed his father away. The only way he could process that was anger and blame. But now those had faded and there was nothing but regret and pain.

He regretted leaving. He regretted not noticing that something was wrong, not listening to his sister. He even regretted surviving. But as they made camp, the conversation between his friends and him highlighting the silence between his twin and himself, he mostly regretted dumping his anger on her. It had been stupid, she was right about that much, at least. There had been so many dark nights in the past that they had gotten through only with each other’s company. And now, while they were suffering most of all, he pushed her away with his vitriol, instead of embracing her.

Reina declined dinner again that night at camp. She sat apart, staring at her phone as the rest of them sat around the campfire. She hadn’t eaten for two days. Ignis had even made her favorite curry in a vain attempt to get her to join them. Noctis prodded at his own bowl, pushing vegetables aside and not taking a bite. He glanced up at his sister. Her back was facing toward them and she sat, unmoving, with her knees pulled up to her chest and her face lit by the glow of her phone. With a sigh Noct stood and went to sit beside her.

“Rei, you have to start eating again.” He said levelly as he settled cross-legged on the stone beside her, his bowl of curry in hand. His tone was earnest, serious, like he was legitimately concerned for her health. “No one else will eat my vegetables.”

She didn’t look up at him until the last. Her eyes were glassy with tears, though her face was dry. In spite of that, the corners of her mouth quivered; he knew it as the face she made when she was trying not to smile.

“And here I thought you were worried about me.”

“Huh, me? Worried about my dumb twin? You wish.” Noct stabbed a half moon of zucchini with his fork and held it out to her. “Come on, eat this. There are too many. I can’t keep pushing them around my bowl.”

She really did smile at that. It wasn’t really a happy smile—the tears in her eyes counteracted that—but it was _thankful_. Reina always had been bad at saying ‘thanks’ when it really mattered. But she was good at that look, and it worked just the same.

She bit the zucchini off his fork.

Noct resumed dissecting his curry as if nothing unusual had happened. He took a bite of rice as he pushed the vegetables off to the side, one by one. When the little pile grew too unwieldy again, he skewered a vegetable and gave it to his sister. She didn’t object. She just hugged his arm and rested her head on his shoulder, having tucked her phone away once more. They persisted that way in silence for some time. When the curry was gone, vegetables and all, Noct set the empty bowl aside.

He fished around his mind for something to bring some light back. The night before they had stayed up all night telling each other stories about their father—happy stories—until they were smiling about him instead of crying. They had twenty years of material—surely neither of them was out, yet. Well, perhaps not _quite_ twenty years.

“What is… the very first thing you remember?” Noctis asked at last.

Reina looked up at him, a curious furrow in her brow.

“Go on! What’s the oldest memory you have?”

“How am I supposed to know which early memory happened first?” Reina asked.

“I dunno. Just guess.”

She was silent for a while. Long enough that he began to wonder if her mind hadn’t wandered to darker days.

“I don’t know,” she said, finally. “Probably something to do with you or Father. What’s yours?”

“It’s Dad—those really old memories are all just images from knee-height, mostly. I just remember standing on the steps of the Citadel and watching the Regalia pull up. When Dad stepped out he turned and saw me—probably us, I don’t know—and he held out his hands so I ran to him.”

Supposedly the oldest memories were only cemented because of strong emotions. He remembered feeling happy to see his father—like he had been gone for a long time. But, then again, the king had been gone on and off a lot, back then.

“That’s sweet,” Reina murmured.


	10. A Half-Remembered Melody

######  _741?:_

_(Fifteen years before?)_

It wasn’t true that she didn’t know what the earliest memory she had was. She wasn’t in the habit of lying to her brother, but it wasn’t something she felt like sharing with him. He was trying to lighten the mood and the truth was that her first memory wasn’t going to do that.

Reina’s first memory, the earliest thing she could remember, was music. Or, at least, music-related. The memory wasn’t important because of the music. It was important because of the emotion.

She had been too young to remember when the first time she held a violin was. She knew that it had been when she was two and that at first the only reason anything she played was recognizable was because there were accompanying instruments, but that knowledge wasn’t from memories, it was from stories told to her after she was old enough to hold onto them. She had played the violin exclusively until four or five, when their governess decided her hands were big enough for the piano. The violin lessons didn’t stop; her time spent on music was doubled. At six she tried her first flute, and then there were thrice the instruments to practice. Later there were voice lessons thrown into the mix; she couldn’t remember when they had begun or when they had ended, but she knew they didn’t persist as long as the others.

It was all fuzzy around the edges; images without voices attached, because she had been too young to fully understand them, half-remembered from a perspective around knee-height. In the years that passed after, her mind pieced together the missing parts to make a whole.

She didn’t remember the room, except that it was bright. In hindsight, having been in the Citadel her whole life, she knew it was bright because that room was a small parlor with a grand window on one side; it opened up into the gardens, and in the afternoon the sun poured in and turned the whole place golden.

Her violin was weightless in her hands, humming a half-remembered song. There was a grand piano playing alongside her, some nameless face behind it, filling in the background of her piece. The sitting area was occupied by a solemn group from their household: Reina’s father and brother, and a dozen others—mixed from court, council, and staff. There was always a quiet but open invitation to her recitals extended; those days were early enough that it never became crowded.

In all likelihood she played a set for them. She did every time thereafter that she could remember. Whether or not it was her first time doing so, she couldn’t recall.

Her father sat on the sofa with Noctis in his lap. Reina’s eyes were on him; every time she practiced she thought of it—if she could impress the king, if she could make her father proud with how hard she worked, then all the effort would be worth it.

All _their_ eyes were on her… except his.

The king watched his son, instead. His head down-turned, his eyes fixed on the side of Noct’s face, but unfocused, like his mind was miles away. At that time she didn’t know why; she didn’t understand. Later she did. They must have been about five, when it happened.

What she remembered most sharply without details filled in, was the feeling. The disappointment at having worked hard and still passing unnoticed. The sorrow and distress and frustration at being able to do nothing at all about it.

The door opened and an attendant entered. Reina’s bow wavered, but the face behind the grand piano—her governess—encouraged her to continue. So she did. She continued playing as the attendant leaned over to speak in hushed tones to her father. She continued playing as he responded, as they carried on an inaudible but increasingly urgent conversation before her. She continued playing as her father rose, depositing Noctis on the sofa to sit on his own, bid him farewell, and left the room without looking at her.

She continued playing, though tears stung in her eyes.

In the years that followed there were many other recitals. Sometimes the king was there, sometimes he wasn’t. When he was there he was often distracted, like he had come out of a sense of obligation but that there were more important things on his plate. Understandable, given that he was running a kingdom and all she was doing was picking out simplified notes on a custom violin. But even knowing there were a myriad things more important for him to see to, she always found herself hoping he would just sit and listen, for once.

At sixteen the recitals stopped; perhaps it was the idea that if Reina was old enough to own a naginata then she was old enough to decide when and if she wanted to perform. She didn’t.

“It’s pointless,” Reina told her governess, when asked. “I enjoy the music, but no one cares whether or not I perform for them.”

Agnys considered her critically for a moment, fixing her with that piercing look she threw over the top of her glasses, sometimes.

“Inaccurate generalizations are unfitting of you, Princess Reina. I believe what you mean to say is that the only person you _wish_ would care… appears not to.”

It hurt so much worse to think about it that way. If no one cared then no one cared. If everyone _except_ her father cared…

Reina turned her head to hide the tears until they passed—she didn’t shed a single one.

“But the choice remains yours. If that is your decision then we will hold no further recitals.” Agnys took a moment to mark something down in her schedule before looking back up. “Now then, from the top, please.”

Noctis was the only one who asked her about the halt to her musical performances. In the year between their sixteenth and seventeenth birthdays—the last year that she shared a room with him—she would play for him alone in the quiet hours before bed, sometimes. Though his own music lessons had fallen by the wayside in early childhood, he remained an excellent audience. She played for him whatever she liked, choosing pieces she was learning or ones that resonated with her. Usually they were for the violin. Some nights they slipped out to the downstairs parlor to use the grand piano there. She never knew that, on those nights, there was a small crowd lurking outside the cracked-open door, soaking in the now-rare entertainment.

When Noct moved out the following year the only person who heard her play was her Agnys—save, of course, for those passing by during music lessons who paused in the hallway before being pulled away to other duties, and the crownsguards who protected the princess.

Just before graduation that year, the music lessons ceased entirely when an unexpected encounter caused the princess to drop everything else and refocus all her spare time. For months she was too exhausted and too busy to even lift her violin. But when school finished and she grew more accustomed to her new schedule, she found time, some evenings, to play on her own. Other nights she brought her violin or flute to Noctis’ apartment when she visited, but any sort of practice was brief and far between—enough to maintain the dexterity without putting effort into improvement.

Now it had been over a month since the last time she had touched an instrument. Perhaps she never would again.


	11. Sleepless Nights

######  _18-19 May, 756:_

_(Two days after)_

By rights she should have fallen asleep the same instant she laid down in the tent. Neither she nor Noctis had slept more than an hour or two the previous night; the night before that she had woken at 4, and they had spent all day today cutting through monsters. And yet, in spite of all of that, she lay awake. She stared at the inside of the tent, refusing to shut her eyes as she listened to everyone else fall asleep one by one until she was the last one awake.

Her first attempt to sleep had gone about as well as anticipated. Closing her eyes resulted in images of her father’s face, like it was painted onto the inside of her eyelids. It was an impossible decision, choosing whether she wanted to see those false images. She would have given _anything_ to see his face one more time, but imagining it just reminded her that she never would. But it was as close as she would ever get.

Reina shut her eyes and tears spilled over. She could see the way the lines near his eyes deepened when he smiled, the way his hair stuck up all over in the morning at breakfast, how his whole face lit up when she dragged Noctis home for dinner.

It was impossible to say how long she lay there, having long since given up on sleep, lost in memories. Eventually she got up and slipped out of the tent. Her feet took her away from the quiet camp. She didn’t fully register where she was going until she was there.

The Regalia was open to the air—slim chance anyone would trouble it out in the middle of nowhere—so Reina let herself in. She didn’t bother opening the door, but slid over the back and dropped herself onto the bench, lying with her feet propped over the door. Her eyes shut. It was the closest she had felt to comfortable in days.

Her heart ached for home. For Insomnia with her towering buildings and hurried people. For the Citadel, the long halls and quiet formality. But even if she had been able to go back to Insomnia it would never be the same. It would always be empty. A body without a soul, a house without a heart.

She drew her phone out of her pocket and looked at the blank screen; it remained black and lifeless even as she touched the power button. Dead. The revelation caused a squirming in her stomach. If her phone was off then he couldn’t call her—she would never know if he sent a text or…

 _Stupid_.

Reina chided herself and dropped the phone onto her chest. She shut her burning eyes and rubbed her face, trying not to cry. It seemed like that was all she had done for the past two days: either she was crying or she was trying not to. Every time she breathed it hurt.

“Why did you send me here, Father…?” She opened her eyes and stared up at the stars, as if the night would respond. It didn’t. Predictably.

She sighed. Her hands drifted up to massage her temples; too many emotions and too little sleep took its toll.

Before leaving, five days ago—had it really only been five days?—she had begged him to let her stay. There was always that possibility that Niflheim wasn’t coming for peace; they had all discussed it and, in the end, decided that accepting the treaty was still the best choice. But when her father said goodbye to them five days ago, he hadn’t expected to see them ever again. He had known beyond the worrying suspicions that she held. And he had lied to her to get her to leave.

He had sent them into the world, worrying over whether or not they were ready to continue on their own.

Reina hadn’t been.

“If you knew… if you _knew_ they were going to attack, why didn’t you let me stay? I could have helped. I could have—” Her voice cracked and she blinked back tears again. She could have been with him. She could have died with him and never left his side.

She rubbed her eyes, staring up at blurry stars. Her voice was a whisper when she spoke again, “Did you send me away just because you didn’t want me to burn with Insomnia? Did you really think I would just get over this? You know me better than that, Father.”

 _Go with Noctis_.

That was what he told her: stay with Noctis. Noctis needed her.

Everything had always been Noctis’ destiny. Noctis’ fate that frayed at Father’s nerves. Noctis’ future that drove him to give so much. Noctis, chosen by the crystal when they were just five, chosen to rid their star of its scourge.

For years she had struggled for that sort of purpose. If she could just be useful, if she could just be needed or wanted like Noct was, then she could be happy. But she had been just one little girl in a world of the powerful and the strong, desperately wishing to be one of them.

And for a little while, she _had_ been useful. She’d had a place, a purpose, and people who needed her. Or so she had thought, at the time.

“Wasn’t I useful to you, Father?” She whispered up at the stars.

This time when the tears fell she didn’t rub them away. She let them drip down past her temples and dampen her hair. Maybe she hadn’t even had that scant utility that she had imagined. Maybe she had always been a little girl playing at a dangerous game… but it had felt _so real_.

Then again, her dreams always did.


	12. Her Highness' First Council

######  _Spring, 744:_

_(Twelve years before)_

Reina had been eight the first time she attended a meeting with the ruling council—although it could hardly have been called ‘attending’, at the time. More important than the council though, was that it was the day she discovered that she could ask to be with her father and receive it.

It was nine o’clock. Noctis was gone, leaving her very much alone in the dark room.

Bedtime was, theoretically, strictly enforced. Theoretically.

In practice, Noctis climbed out the window every other night and only Ignis ever got in trouble for it. Reina still couldn’t reason that one out, but she _could_ reason that if Noctis could climb out the window for midnight excursions, then she could open the door and go out the traditional way. There were just two small problems. The first was that she didn’t have a convenient scapegoat of a friend to follow her, which was certainly a deterrent, but the bigger problem was the second.

Reina had never broken a rule before.

It was an irrational fear, probably, but to an eight year old it was a considerable one. And so she had been staring at the closed door for the better part of half an hour, clutching Chika the stuffed chocobo and willing herself to just _open the door_.

There were two options, really. She could not sleep at all, idle away the night and somehow drag through the following day. Or she could open the door and step outside. It _sounded_ like a very easy decision, until one considered what could happen when she opened the door. Perhaps she wouldn’t even make it down the hall. Perhaps one of the servants would pick her up and put her back where she was supposed to be, then tell Father that she had been out of bed past bedtime. Or perhaps she would make it all the way only to have her father tell her to go back to bed. That would have been worse. In fact, it might have been the worst possibility of them all. Worse than even staying up all night.

The risks associated with leaving were undoubtedly higher than with staying… but so were the rewards. It was a gamble, certainly, but sometimes in life it was necessary to take a leap for the sake of progress. Or so she told herself, in not so many words, as she reached for the door and pushed it open.

Outside were the crownsguards who stood outside their door all night.

“Princess Reina.” Both hurried to bow to her. She clutched at her stuffed chocobo and told herself that if she and Noctis had gone to their father’s room in the middle of the night before, then she could go by herself.

“I am going to see my father.” She managed the words after two false starts; they only came out with the smallest squeak.

“His Majesty is in a council meeting, still, Your Highness. He hasn’t retired to his room, yet.”

Reina’s bottom lip quivered. She stiffened it, putting on her best obstinate princess look—it wasn’t very well-practiced. All or nothing, she told herself.

“Then I would like to be taken to the council hall.”

The pair of guards exchanged looks. Never before had the princess asked to be taken somewhere that she was only possibly allowed to be. There were no rules on what to do if she did.

Eventually—miraculously—they agreed to escort her to the conference room.

Outside, there were two attendants, idling and looking bored; when they caught sight of her and her two-guard entourage, however, they straightened and exchanged bemused looks.

“Your Highness.” They bowed, but looked as if they wanted to ask what she was doing there. It wasn’t the sort of questions one asked a princess, usually.

Her escort remained conspicuously silent. It was their job to see her safely across the Citadel, not to explain what they were doing there. Also, they were still standing in grey area. Reina was on her own.

She took a deep breath and lifted her chin just a touch. Most of the time she was just Reina, just a—somewhat mediocre—student, just a little girl. But tonight she reminded herself that she was the king’s daughter, even if she was just a little girl.

“Is my father within?” She asked in a voice that sounded quite a lot better than she actually felt.

There was that glance they exchanged, again.

“He is, Your Highness; there has been no word on how much later they’ll go.”

“Open the door and admit me.” She made it a command rather than a request. Father used that tone sometimes, and she did her best to imitate it. His was much better.

Again the glance, then hesitation as neither of the attendants moved for the door. She could guess what they were thinking because it was the same thing she was thinking. No one was allowed in, with the rare exception of a messenger. But, strictly speaking, the princess had a certain authority that was only overshadowed by the king’s, and if the king himself had not _said_ no one was to be admitted, then they weren’t _really_ doing anything wrong by letting her in.

At the same time, the princess was eight, and it was hard to justify taking orders from an eight year old when they contradicted ones that were set in place by much older higher-ups.

“I _said_ open the door and admit me. I must see my father.” This time she put a little more force behind her words. Miraculously her voice didn’t waver, though she had to clench her hands against the chocobo’s fat body to keep them from shaking. In all likelihood the fact that she was clutching a stuffed chocobo detracted from her authority, but she was certain she couldn’t have done it without Chika.

“I… yes, Your Highness.”

Against all odds, it _had_ worked. Reina had to stop herself from looking blatantly surprised when the steward reached for the door and pulled it open, just enough for her to slip through. Going inside was almost harder than leaving her room had been, but this time there were two people staring expectantly at her, so she didn’t linger. The door shut behind her with an air of finality and she looked up to find thirteen pairs of eyes fixed on her.

Reina froze, eyes widening. Her plan hadn’t really extended beyond just getting there. She hadn’t even expected that much to work. So to find herself in the dead quiet of the conference room, realizing that just the unfamiliar sound of the door opening and shutting was impossible for them to miss, was far beyond her expectations. In the worst way possible.

Any explanation she might have thought up before had leaked out of her brain the moment the door shut behind her. In fact, any words that she might ever have known at all didn’t seem to be in her head, anymore. Not a single one. Not even ‘um.’

Her eyes flicked between the faces of the council; there were furrowed brows and raised brows, narrowed eyes and widened ones. But the only face she really cared about was the one at the far end of the table. Her father looked surprised, for the moment, but she reminded herself how quickly that could turn to something else. And if he told her to go back to bed… if he said she wasn’t supposed to be there and sent her away…

Tears filled Reina’s eyes and it was all she could do to clutch the little chocobo and stare across the long table at him, bottom lip quavering. It seemed an age from where she was standing, but probably it didn’t take more than a second or two. When the first tear streaked down her cheek, her father rose and walked around the table to her. She half expected that he did it only so he could chastise her quietly, not in front of the whole council. But when he knelt in front of her it wasn’t with that stern expression he so often wore.

“Reina… what troubles you, my dear?”

The tears fell more determinedly down her face, now, but her father’s shoulders blocked the other eyes from view.

“I-I… can’t sleep…” Reina whispered, dropping her gaze to her bare feet.

He held his hands out to her and she looked up, shock stopping tears in their tracks.

“Come along, then,” He said.

There was a smile on his face, in spite of the fact that she had broken more rules in the past few minutes than in the whole of her, admittedly short, life. Reina lurched forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. He lifted her off her feet and straightened. She was too old to be carried but it didn’t stop him.

“Pardon the interruption,” Her father said, lifting his voice to the others as he resumed his seat, this time with Reina in his lap. “Pray, continue.”

Much clearing-of-throats and half-formed sentences followed as the twelve members of his council hurried to do just that all at once. Reina didn’t bother listening to any of it. She settled against her father, burying her face in his chest and letting the shock and fear wear down. When they did, she found she was exhausted.

In Tenebrae, many nights found her slipping across the hall and crawling into her father’s bed instead. That had been when the dreams started. In Insomnia they weren’t so potent. Or, perhaps, they just hadn’t had a chance to catch up to her, yet. All the same, she had grown used to sleeping in the warm circle of her father’s arms and nothing felt right without it.

But now she was back. And with her father’s arms and the occasional rumble of his voice in her ears it didn’t matter that there were other people talking. She fell asleep, anyway.

Following that day, the young princess became a regular attendee of council meetings, court, and— occasionally— her father’s quiet work nights in his study. Reina found that if she sat quietly with him she was permitted to do so at almost any time. He was too busy to pay attention to her, really, but this was the second best thing. If she could be with him whenever she wanted, she was content.

Sitting in on so many meetings with nothing to do but be very quiet, Reina inevitably began to listen to the proceedings. At first they made very little sense; she didn’t ask questions of her father, not even after, because he was busy and she wasn’t certain that she was supposed to be listening at all. Eventually though, _he_ asked _her._


	13. A Father's Pride

######  _Spring, 748:_

_(Eight years before)_

“So. Tell me your thoughts.”

“Father?”

Reina looked up at the king, but remembered not to stop walking, in spite of her confusion. They walked together toward the dining hall for dinner; Reina had—after completing all of her homework and squeezing in an abridged music music lesson with the promise that she would practice later in the evening—been permitted to join her father in council.

The subject in discussion had been about the outer lands—the considerable land that was, in comparison to Insomnia, vastly unpopulated. Reina had never seen it, or at least, very little of it, save some roads on the way to Tenebrae four years ago. She remembered a great deal of empty space and little else. But there _were_ people, though she only knew it because other people spoke of them. Her father, for one, and the council and sometimes representatives in court.

“You have been sitting in on my meetings for four years; do not expect me to believe you pay no attention.”

Reina flushed and ducked her head, but held onto her father’s arm, still. They had never really discussed her presence at those meetings, not explicitly. Until now.

“I am not scolding you, my dear,” her father commented lightly, “It is a worthwhile education to have, even at such a young age.”

She lifted her head to find him smiling warmly at her. She couldn’t help but return it. But he had asked her a question, so she dug the answer out of her mind, feeling self conscious—like this was some sort of test.

“Well… they have asked for more resources to defend against daemons in the night…” Reina began slowly, recalling to mind the details. Her own understanding of the situation was, admittedly, patchy. “Is there no Crownsguard outside?”

“Not beyond the Wall, no. The Crownsguard protects the crown, and the crown is in the Crown City,” he answered readily, apparently not put off in the least by her question.

“What about the Kingsglaive?”

“The Kingsglaive _do_ extend beyond the Wall, as I believe you know. Their purpose is to protect the people and all of Lucis, but their priority is to protect against Niflheim. They are trained to fight Magitek soldiers, but they do very well against daemons as well.”

Reina considered, turning her gaze down the hall as she thought. It hurt her neck to stare up at her father for too long and, besides, it was difficult to walk straight when she did.

“They don’t ask for much, do they?”

“Those beyond the Wall? No; very rarely. But that does not mean they have no needs.”

“So… if they ask for something, that must mean it’s important… right?” She did look up at him then, hoping to see confirmation. What she saw was a little smile and a warm look that she didn’t quite recognize.

“Quite so, my dear. They are very often self-sufficient and it comes with all manners of pride. When a proud person asks for your help, that is a strong indication that they need it desperately.”

Pride. That was the word. That was the _look_.

Reina was so surprised by the thought that she tripped over her own feet and would have gone face first into the dining room door if her father hadn’t caught her.

“That was undignified,” he teased, setting her back on her feet.

Reina blushed. He laughed. She promptly forgot her embarrassment and gave a short giggle.

“Come, now—dinner waits.”

He ushered her into the dining hall and for a few moments, while everyone got settled and Noctis complained about his salad and received soup instead, conversation was sparse. Once the three of them were all comfortably enjoying their meal—though Noctis was dissecting his soup—their father spoke once more.

“So, then: what are we to do?”

Both twins looked up at him with momentary surprise. Reina was further surprised to find that he was looking directly at her.

The daemons—of course! Her brain kicked back into gear.

“Do they have any warriors of their own?”

“Of a sort. Outside, there are Hunters. Hunters take care of pests that most people do not have the training to deal with: mostly wild beasts, which prowl the open land, but sometimes they will also take on daemons.”

Reina thought, her mouth twisting. “We _could_ reassign some Kingsglaive—I don’t know what they’re all doing at the moment, though,” she admitted sheepishly. “Anyway, I suppose it wouldn’t work. We couldn’t give them enough Kingsglaive to keep everyone safe indefinitely… we need a more permanent solution.”

The king’s only response was a wordless sound of encouragement as he worked his worked his way steadily through his dinner. It wasn’t an answer, but she supposed it meant she needed to think harder. The problem was that there weren’t enough people to go around. The Kingsglaive wasn’t _small_ , but they couldn’t fight a war _and_ protect a whole kingdom against daemons. Not when everything outside was so spread out. If only there was some way to make more daemon-hunters.

Reina blinked, struck by a thought.

“Can we give them Kingsglaive _temporarily_ , and train more people? Teach the Hunters or… or make more of them?”

He smiled again.

“Very good, my dear. That is certainly a tempting possibility, is it not?”

Reina beamed. Her stomach was full of flowers and balloons—she didn’t feel hungry, anymore: she could have survived indefinitely on his praise alone.

Noctis was still looking between the pair of them with the same confused expression he had worn at their father’s first question. When she spotted it, Reina laughed.

“Father lets me sit in on council meetings, sometimes. You should come, Noct; then you won’t be so left out over dinner,” Reina teased.

Noctis made a face. He took another bite of his soup. “No thanks.”

Secretly, she felt a little relieved. Though she teased him about it, she much preferred he didn’t come: this way she had their father all to herself for a little while—even if he wasn’t really paying attention.

Reina was still thinking about the Kingsglaive and the Hunters the following day. She had to remind herself more than once to focus on her work when her mind wandered. What would the council decide, she wondered? 

When school concluded she rode back to the Citadel with Noctis, as she did every day. They were met in the entrance hall by Sandre, shared an afternoon snack, and then separated once more when Reina went to her governess and Noctis went off with Ignis. She was just finishing her homework under Agnys’ sharp gaze when something that had never happened before occurred. 

The king entered. To her credit, the stern school mistress didn’t fumble in spite of her surprise: she rose and curtsied steadily. Reina hastened to do the same. 

“Your Majesty. To what do we owe this honor?”

Reina fought not to fidget. She wanted to ask him what the council had decided about the daemon hunters, but more than that she wanted to know what brought him to interrupt her lessons.

“I have come to collect my daughter—I realize it is short notice, but could I convince you to part with her for a few hours?”

Agnys _did_ look surprised at that, though it manifested only as a slight lift of her eyebrows. Reina, on the other hand, gaped: wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Father was asking for _her_ ? He was taking her out of lessons to go with _him_?

“Of course, Your Majesty—though she has not yet completed her homework,” Agnys informed him.

Reina shut her mouth with a snap and put on what she hoped was a virtuous expression. She prayed silently that she was allowed to go—if he wanted her, surely he wouldn’t mind about the homework? She could do it later. _Please_ let her do it later. If she had only known she would have worked much harder to finish in time.

“There will be time for that in the evening,” The king said pleasantly. His eyes fell on Reina and he gave her a little smile: her heart melted. “You will complete your homework after dinner, Reina?”

“Yes, Father!” She ought to have been more dignified and composed, but she knew the response came out breathless and excited. She ducked her head to hide her embarrassment, but her father only smiled.

“Come along, then.”

He motioned and she leapt to obey, hardly daring to believe her luck. Once they were out in the hall, she asked him the question that had been nagging at her mind all day.

“What did the council decide, Father? About the request for protection against the daemons.”

“I thought you should like to hear for yourself: we go to sit in conference, now, where the final remarks will be heard and the decision will be made.”

Her heart skipped a beat. He had taken her from lessons so that she could hear the conclusion? It was almost like he wanted her involved. She was so stunned she stopped walking for a moment.

“Is something wrong?”

She blinked, shaking her head as she realized he had stopped walking to look at her. Her face split into a wide grin and she skipped to catch up with him.

“No, Father!” She said, feeling more cheerful than she could remember having ever felt before.

“Good; let us waste no time, then. It would not do for the king to be late.”

The conference room was already occupied by the time they arrived. The others rose to bow to the king, resuming their seats only once he was seated. Reina sat in his lap, still small enough at twelve to fit there—though she had grown in the past four years, it never seemed by much: she was beginning to think she would never be as tall as her father.

Council began. Clarus gave opening remarks and discussion was reopened concerning the request for aid outside the Wall. A few possibilities were outlined: reorganizing the Crown City’s police force to extend beyond the wall, creating a rotation to station members of the Kingsglaive at each outpost—it seemed there weren’t all that many towns outside—and one councillor even suggested the refuse the request altogether. Reina was shocked by the idea of it: how could they think of denying their own people, if they needed help so badly? Thankfully, _that_ idea was strongly opposed.

No one, however, suggested the solution she had discussed with her father the night before. And, even in the absence of it, the king did not bring it up himself. Reina’s heart sank. Perhaps he had only told her it was a good idea to placate her: in the sort of way one tells a small child that their drawing is beautiful. She didn’t want charity. She wanted to be useful.

As the last of the ideas were presented and discussed and talk began to wind down, Reina resigned herself to that reality. Perhaps someday, when she was older, she would come up with better ideas.

Her father tapped her leg twice. She looked up at him, guessing it was more than just accident—there was some purpose behind the signal. Her guess proved right when he leaned forward to whisper in her ear.

“Present your idea.”

Reina’s eyes widened. Surely she had misheard; he couldn’t possibly want her—little twelve-year-old Reina who had never accomplished anything of note—to address the council with an idea! If no one else had thought of it, surely it wasn’t a very good idea. She half-turned in his lap to look at him: he was looking down the table, his eyes on Master Kelmis, who was speaking, but his gaze flicked toward her just for a moment.

“Address them, Reina,” he said again, his voice still just as quiet, but this time it was more firm. If she didn’t do it she would be disobeying him. She had never once disobeyed her father.

She turned back around. Was the room spinning, or was that just her head? Her stomach was hot and writhing, full of electricity and nerves. She clasped her hands in her lap, clutching the hem of her skirt to keep them from shaking. As certain as she was that if she opened her mouth she would throw up, she made herself do it. When Master Kelmis was finished—and she hadn’t even heard what he said—she spoke.

“Um…” The first syllable came out as a squeak, too faint to be heard. “E-excuse me.”

The words sounded tiny in the big room, but everyone turned to look at her, so they must have been audible. Her heart pounded fit to burst. They were all staring at her! Just like that first time she had walked in when she was eight! She hadn’t been able to speak, then, either. She had just cried and her father had rescued her. But this time he had _told her_ to speak. She had to do. How disappointed would he be in her if she failed? She didn’t want to find out.

“P-perhaps it is p-possible to reach a more p-permanent solution, without… reducing the number of Kingsglaive at the c-crown’s disposal.” Her voice quivered and she stumbled over more than one word, but she got them out, somehow. She didn’t stop, because she knew if she did she wouldn’t have the courage to begin again. “If the Kingsglaive were reassigned t-temporarily… they could teach some of the p-people outside to fight the d-daemons.”

That was it, wasn’t it? The whole idea? It sounded stupider when she said it outloud. What if the outer Lucians didn’t want to learn? What if there weren’t enough of them to learn? Surely they had jobs and lives of their own and they couldn’t all be Hunters. Were there even enough Hunters?

In the silence that followed, Reina quivered, too scared to even pull at the edge of her skirt. She watched the eyes of the council as they shifted from Reina—still showing surprise—to the king, as if looking for confirmation that they should acknowledge their suggestion. The king, however, maintained the same neutral expression he wore whenever anyone sitting on the council made a suggestion.

In the end it was Clarus who broke the silence.

“That is a wise idea, Your Highness,” Clarus said, giving her a tiny nod. He turned his eyes around the table, spreading his hands, to ask for further discussion. “Where would this leave us?”

Reina was too shell-shocked to immediately noticed that they _were_ discussing the idea. _Her_ idea. The one she had came up with all by herself, albeit with her father’s prompting. She was still shaking, and she still wasn’t certain that she _wasn’t_ going to throw up, but, little by little she began to realize that not only were they discussing it… no one seemed to have any strong objections to it.

Her father wrapped one arm around her, hugging her tight until the shivering subsided and her heart stopped feeling like it was going to explode.

“You did well, my dear,” he stated in an undertone, only audible to her.

Reina flushed, pleased beyond measure with the praise. When she turned to look at him he gave her a little smile. After that she felt more well-equipped to listen.

When all was said and done, it was _Reina’s_ idea that the council settled on.

They adjourned and Reina walked toward the dining hall with her father; Clarus joined them.

“A sharp idea from the princess,” Clarus observed.

“Indeed,” said the king.

Reina glanced between them; she was so small they could talk over her head without any difficulty, even when she was walking directly between them.

“ _Was_ it her idea, Regis? Or yours?”

“Hers, of course,” her father replied.

“I see,” said Clarus. “Then I commend you, Your Highness—continue thinking like that and we’ll have you a seat on the council in a few years!”

She smiled, though it seemed to her this was silly-talk. “Thank you, Clarus! I will do my best.”

It hadn’t occurred to Reina until then that most of them probably believed it was the king’s idea, that he had simply given it to her to say so she would be involved. But when she _did_ think about it, it didn’t matter to her. What mattered was that _he_ knew.

The king settled his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. She beamed up at him and he smiled back down at her. There was that look again. She could have drank it in all day.

 _Pride_.


	14. Fading Light

######  _Fall, 751:_

_(Five years before)_

Eight years ago Reina had crept into her first council meeting in tears, too afraid to utter a single word. Now her attendance was so commonplace that the attendants outside didn’t even comment beyond a ‘Your Highness’ and a bow before opening the door for her. Now she didn’t need her father’s steadying presence to walk across the room, she didn’t duck her head and scurry around to him, and she didn’t try to make herself as unobtrusive as possible. The fact was that they were going to notice her entering; the most graceful thing to do was apologize and let things continue.

“Apologies for the interruption,” Reina said, calm, as she rounded the table to her father’s side.

There were murmurs of greeting: ‘Your Highness’es and ‘Princess’es. The king met her gaze without a word; he didn’t smile, but he didn’t look displeased, either. What he _did_ look was tired. Reina blinked, surprised by the thought. He had a great many things on his plate but he always had and she hadn’t ever noticed that look on his face, before. Not since the night she had dreamed of Noctis’ fate. Not just from everyday processes.

She took her seat at his side, tucking the thoughts away for later reference. She could have had a chair of her own at the table. There was space. In fact, she could have occupied the side opposite her father. But she preferred, after all those years, to sit with him. Though she hadn’t grown much since twelve, she had taken to sitting on the arm of his chair, rather than in his lap. It seemed a little more dignified, for a sixteen year old.

Talk resumed as she sat. She leaned back, folding her hands in her lap and keeping careful balance; her father rested his arm over her legs, his hand on her knee. It was comfortable enough and it put her where she wanted to be. She would, truth be told, have preferred not to be listening to how poorly the defense of their borders was going, but it was important to hear, so she listened. For a time.

Most nights Reina was possessed of a determined sort of focus: a need to learn and to prove. Tonight her eyes drifted, more often than not, toward her father. She didn’t doubt the exhaustion she had seen on his face, but it seemed extraordinary that they were all _still there_. If the king was tired it was surely better to adjourn until the following day. But discussion persisted. The longer they talked, the more she noticed: the king sat a little lower in his chair; his eyes hesitated a moment before following a change of speaker; his head tilted just a little farther forward, like it was too heavy to hold upright; and once or twice she saw him shut his eyes and hesitate to open them again.

And _still_ they discussed.

There was concern twisting in her stomach, but above that was _anger_ . Had _none_ of them noticed? The king clearly needed to rest. He was the foundation that held up the Wall: the shield that protected hundreds of thousands of people and he never got to set it down. But they were dragging at his energy like parasites because there was still no decision regarding the deployment of the Kingsglaive to a new border sector. They could have argued for hours longer.

“Lords and ladies of the council, if I might interject,” Reina sat forward, resting her hand over her father’s.

Eyes turned toward her, the king’s included. There was no particular surprise on the faces of the council members; she was a frequent participant in discussion these days. But there _was_ surprise on her father’s face because when she _did_ participate it was always at his silent behest. This time he had given her no sign. She would deal with those consequences later. For now there were more important things to worry about.

“We could argue over this sector or that for hours, but the time grows late and His Majesty requires rest. I suggest that we adjourn this meeting until tomorrow when all our minds are fresher.”

 _That_ did garner some surprise. It flashed on the king’s face for a moment before settling into neutrality once more. He leaned back in his chair without comment or objection; if he took issue with her declaration he would save it for later, when they were alone.

“Surely His Majesty is capable of handling such affairs on his own. The King adjourns the council when it is complete—not his daughter when she wishes.”

Reina’s eyes settled on the speaker—Master Hamon Carina was an old man and once he must have been fair-haired, for his hair had turned flat and white while her father’s once-black hair had silvered. His clean-shaven face left nowhere for the ever-growing creases in his skin to hide. As for his politics, she knew he liked rules for their own sake, but she had never thought him an unobservant fool before that moment.

Her feet touched the ground and she stood, never taking her eyes off him.

“His Majesty is the only thing that stands between you—between _all of us_ —and Niflheim’s army. If you would like him to continue to support the Wall, I suggest you let him have the energy he needs to do so.” Reina leaned forward, resting her hands on the table. She didn’t raise her voice, but her tone was acid.

“Your Highness—“ Clarus leaned forward in his chair, evidently intent on intervening, but before he could say another word the king lifted a hand to silence him.

Reina glanced back at her father to see if he would comment, but he merely met her gaze, his face calm but unreadable. He wasn’t going to step in; not to stop her and not to protect her. She would finish what she had started.

“Leave us,” Reina said, straightening and turning back to face the council. “This meeting is finished.”

After a moment’s pause, Clarus rose without complaint. It was well that he knew her and her father well; the blatant dismissal from an unusual source might have gone much less smoothly without his agreeability. He stood, bowed to her and the king, and saw himself out. The others followed, one by one, some of them after exchanging bemused looks. Reina never wavered. Though her heart pounded and she was certain she would need to sit down once they were gone, she stood firm until the door shut behind the last of them.

Then she let out a breath, pressing her palms flat against the table and leaning forward on shaking arms. After a quiet moment, her father spoke.

“My daughter and my protector? I had not anticipated such venom in tonight’s meeting.”

Reina turned to face him, all trace of fire gone from her now that there was no target for it. She was relieved to find that little smile on his face; the expression was more in his eyes than his lips, but it was warm and amused.

“Are you very cross with me?”

She didn’t apologize. It was bad form to apologize for something one wasn’t sorry for.

“No, my dear,” he reached out to take her shaking hands in his. “Surprised… and, if you permit me to be completely honest, the slightest bit impressed. But not cross.”

Reina smiled, though she wasn’t at all certain she deserved it. She held to his hands, putting it out of her mind for the moment.

“But you _are_ tired.”

“I am that,” he agreed, slipping his fingers from hers and pushing himself upright with his hands on the arms of his chair. She took a step away so he could stand.

“Then I have no regret,” said Reina.

“I thought not.” His eyebrows arched, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Come, now. You have dismissed my council and all that remains for my fierce guardian to do is see me to bed."

He held out his arm and she took it without hesitation. In spite of knowing full well that he was teasing her by labelling her his ‘protector’ and his ‘fierce guardian’, Reina made up her mind that she was those things and she would continue to be. If no one else was going to do it, she would see to it herself.

They walked together with some little conversation. Though he made light of it, Reina couldn’t help but notice that he _was_ leaning on her arm every other step. She studied his gait and by the time they reached his rooms she was certain that he favored his right leg.

The crownsguards outside opened the door to admit them and Reina held her tongue, not saying a word in front of them. Whatever Father might have claimed, he was too proud to openly admit anything that troubled him. It was, perhaps, the only reason why _he_ hadn’t called an end to the meeting. As it was, her choice to halt things prematurely was acceptable precisely because he had _not_ openly condoned it. His council was then left to wonder if he was, in fact, tired or if his daughter was simply being unnecessarily picky. Reina didn’t mind. If it set his mind at ease to let others believe this was entirely her doing then she had no objection to it. Once they were inside, however, with the door shut behind them, she could ask.

“Does your leg trouble you?”

He made a noncommittal sound as she helped him to sit on the edge of his bed. “Just the joint-ache of an old man. Nothing to warrant concern.”

She remained unconvinced, but didn’t press the subject further. She helped him shed his cape and collar without comment. When that was through she stood uncertainly. Would he ever confide in her if something _was_ wrong, or would she be left picking up on clues and listening to excuses forever?

“Is there anything else you need?”

He looked up at her, undoubtedly worn but with a smile on his face nonetheless. “No, my dear. I will be quite alright.”

It was a sort of dismissal; his indication that she should leave him to his own devices. So she bowed herself out and went to hang his cape before moving for the door. His voice stopped her before she reached the sitting room.

“Reina.”

“Yes, Father?” She retraced her steps, coming to a halt in her previous spot just in front of him.

“Have you finished your homework?”

Reina blinked, taken aback. Then she smiled.

“Of course, Father.”

“Good girl.” He returned her smile. “Now, please, grace your old man with a goodnight and put _yourself_ to bed.”

She gave him a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek—pleased that, if nothing else, he was in good humor—before withdrawing once more.

“Goodnight, Father. I’ll see you at breakfast."

“Goodnight, my dear.”


	15. The Last Lucian City

######  _19 May, 756:_

_(Two days after)_

“Reina..? Did you sleep at all?”

It was the third day in a row that she had watched the sun rise. When the sky had paled she returned to the camp, not wanting to worry anyone with her absence. Now she glanced over her shoulder to see Ignis standing in front of the tent; he was always the first up. Noct was always the last.

“I don’t think I would call it that, no.”

Exactly what she would have labelled it as remained to be decided, but ‘sleep’ it definitely wasn’t. It had been more like a semi-conscious state. A waking dream, which was marginally better than the sleeping sort.

Ignis considered her for a moment. She turned back around, not feeling well equipped to deal with whatever concern he might have felt. If he brought up her father or told her he was sorry she didn’t think she could hold it together. The king’s absence was still a hole in her chest, raw and painful. It wasn’t possible not to think about it, but every so often she ran out of tears to cry.

For a time there was silence, but eventually Ignis did speak. It wasn’t what she was expecting.

“Help me prepare breakfast, then.”

She turned and looked at him, trying to decide if he was serious or not. He seemed to be.

“I don’t know anything about cooking,” she said.

The Citadel had been her home for her entire life. Inside there were people who saw to any day-to-day needs that she might have had. If she had been forced to live on her own, she would surely have wasted away. Economics, diplomacy, politics, medicine, and combat training hadn’t left much space for the more domestic subjects. Especially not in the later years when the ring’s toll weighed more heavily on her father.

“No time like the present.”

Reina couldn’t think of any reason to say no. She couldn’t even truthfully say she didn’t want to. Learning to make breakfast sounded better than sitting and doing nothing.

“What do I do?"

It was on to Lestallum after breakfast—of which Reina managed to eat a few bites. Iris was there, along with some of the surviving Crownsguard. Reina settled in for a long ride, sandwiched between Noctis and Gladio. That was preferable to being on her own, but only by a small margin. She let their talk distract her from thoughts of her father, or tried to, anyway. Prompto wanted to stop and see Chocobos. Gladio wasn’t hearing of it. In the end they chose not to stop, but the tradeoff was listening to Prompto talk about chocobos without pause. Then again, he would have done that even if they had stopped.

Some time between chocobos and Lestallum, the steady lull of the road and pointless conversation did what a dark tent could not. Reina drifted off, too exhausted to resist, and fell asleep with her head on her brother’s shoulder. Under usual circumstances Noctis might have pushed her off, just for the sake of it, and told her to get a new pillow. But today he tolerated it. At least she was asleep.

“She hasn’t slept,” Ignis observed, looking at Noctis through the mirror.

“I guess not,” Noct said, looking at his sister.

“And you?”

Noctis looked up, “I slept fine, geez, what are you, my mother?”

“More or less,” Ignis said.

In fact, Noct’s night had been full of restless dreams of his father and Luna and the great tangled mess that everyone seemed determined to set in his lap. But the only way that differed from life before was that now it actually _was_ his mess. Before he had been determinedly avoiding thinking about it. Not because it was hopeless or because it was too much, but because thinking about it meant accepting that his father was going to die. They had known that, but not like _this_.

And now he _was_ gone and all that responsibility was staring Noct in the face. It was what he had always known would happen; he’d just hoped to be a little more prepared when it did come. There was nothing to do, though, but follow the path before him. Collect the royal arms, claim his heritage, and then, _then_ maybe he could think about taking Insomnia back from those damn imperials. They would give them hell. No mercy for murderers.

That was the fire that kept Noctis going. The knowledge that this was what it would have always come down to in some shape or form, that he was doing what he needed to do. One day at a time; one step at a time. And through it all he had his friends

Lestallum was a city—at least compared to everything else outside of the Wall—but it didn’t hold a candle to Insomnia. Still, it was refreshing to see actual buildings with real pavement and more than five people lingering about. In fact, it might have been called crowded.

“They’ve even got a cable car!” Prompto said, standing up in his seat as they pulled into the parking lot.

“I’d like to see where it leads,” said Ignis.

“How about it, Noct?” Prompto dropped back into his seat and turned to face Noctis.

“Yeah, sure, I guess.”

“First we go see Iris,” Gladio said.

There was no arguing with that. Reina had woken up some time between the unrestrained enthusiasm at their arrival and actually parking the car. She had slept through most of the trip, though she had woken once or twice to resettle her head on his shoulder and to stare at her dead phone, as if hoping that time spent in her pocket would bring the battery back to life.

“Keep this up and we’ll have you sleeping through breakfast like a proper person,” Noct draped one arm around her shoulder as they walked. Reina didn’t respond. Noct wasn’t sure what he had expected, but he had dared to _hope_ …

He tried again: “What do you think about Lestallum?”

She glanced about, taking in the buildings draped with pipes and wires, the over enthusiastic street signs, and the people crowding street hawkers.

“It’s not home.”

Prompto turned around, looking aghast: “What? We’re out, seeing new sights and experiencing new people and food and _cities_ , and all you have to say is that it isn’t Insomnia?”

Reina’s mouth twisted. “I liked the city.”

Somehow, Noct wasn’t surprised. She had been homesick since they had left Insomnia, new experiences be damned. The fact that Insomnia was as good as gone, now, and the king with it… that must have only intensified her longing for home.

“ _This_ is a city!” Prompt cried.

Reina just looked at him, her expression saying all that she didn’t: Lestallum wasn’t a city, not compared to Insomnia, and even if it had been… it still wasn’t home. She didn’t look upset that Prompto was teasing her about Lestallum. She just looked generally upset.

The look on Prompto’s face suggested that he took it as a personal affront. It wasn’t so much the actual place, Noctis surmised, but just that Reina was determinedly not having fun while Prompto was doing just the opposite.

“Perhaps Her Highness’ homesickness can be understood, given the circumstances,” said Ignis.

There was that ‘highness’ again. Ignis never had quite dropped it. Reina didn’t usually correct him, whether because she just didn’t care or because she secretly liked it, Noctis still wasn’t certain. All the same, _he_ still found it annoying.

“Cut it out with the ‘highness’.”

Prompto’s good-natured outrage faded in the face of Ignis’ reality. His face fell and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh. Yeah. Right. Sorry about that.”

Again, Reina said nothing. She just dropped her gaze and walked a little closer to Noct—close enough to bump shoulders with him. He couldn’t say for sure with her head downturned, but he was willing to bet there were tears in her eyes. What could he do? He put one arm around her shoulders and hugged her sideways.

“Let’s just… get to the hotel,” Noct sighed.

It wasn’t far and, though they passed several carts with tantalizing-smelling food, they didn’t stop along the way. This was half because Gladio was sure to object if they delayed any longer and also because some little part of Noct was hoping Reina would be a little bit happier inside. She had been talking about how her phone battery was dead all day. Maybe if she could charge it she would find some sort of comfort there. Maybe not, but he hoped, anyway.

As expected, they found Iris in the hotel, alive and well. That was a relief, at least.

They took one room for the five of them and Iris followed them up, sticking close to Gladio and chatting excitedly. It seemed that, whatever had happened in Insomnia, it hadn’t dampened her usual bright spirits.

There was enough space to spread out inside: a little sitting area attached to the bedroom, which held two beds, and both attached to a balcony outside. It was nicer than anywhere they had stayed since Gauldin, but, by Insomnian standards, it wasn’t particularly nice. At least there were beds.

“Beds! I’m in heaven!” Prompto cried.

Iris giggled and covered her mouth with her hand. Gladio dropped his bag in the middle of the floor and complained that no one appreciated camping except him.

Reina disappeared into the adjoining room with her own bag; when Noctis poked his head in after her he found her standing by the outlet, staring at the screen of her dead phone while she waited for it to turn on. All at once it occurred to him why she wanted it so much and he grimaced. Had she even realized? Or was it just some sort of unconscious thing that she hadn’t even admitted to herself, yet?

“Hey, Noct! I’m starved. You wanna go hit those stands outside? They’ve got _kabobs!_ ”

Noctis turned as Prompto appeared behind him. “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

“Hey, did you see that Cup Noodles truck we passed?”

“Sure did. I guess you’re not getting kabobs with us, then,” Noct observed, smiling in spite of everything: it never ceased to be amusing when a big guy like Gladio got unreasonably excited about something like Cup Noodles.

“I suppose _one_ night of cart-food will not kill us,” Ignis sighed, sounding more resigned than excited.

“Don’t be such a buzz kill,” Prompto complained. “Let’s go! Where’s Reina?”

Noctis turned back around; his sister was still leaning against the wall looking at her phone, though it was all the way turned on, now. She didn’t look much comforted by what she found.

“You wanna get some food, Rei?” Noct asked softly, already knowing the answer.

“No,” she mumbled, not looking up at him. “You guys go on. I’ll stay here.”

When he turned around again, the others were all standing in the doorway with him. He pulled a face.

“Come on. She doesn’t want to go.” That was all there was to it. So they went.

“What was she looking for?” Gladio asked, once they were out in the hall. “She said her phone was dead, but… it’s not like anyone’s gonna call.”

Noctis sighed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. For two nights after they left, Reina had fallen asleep with her phone pressed against her ear. He had no doubts about who had been on the other end.

“I think… man, it sounds stupid if I say it. But I think the irrational part of her was still hoping….” Noct tugged at a lock of his hair. It _did_ sound stupid. He didn’t finish the thought.

The others were quiet for a moment.

“Hoping that His Majesty might have left her some message,” Ignis finished, at length.

“Yeah…” Noct sighed.

In her head, that phone was still connected to their dad. It was the last connection she’d had to him: one last link to Insomnia. Apparently she couldn’t bring herself to admit it was a dead line, yet.

They had dinner out on the streets of Lestallum. It wasn’t really a bad place—hot, but not bad. And the food was pretty decent, too. Noct had some packed up to take back for Reina, though he knew he would have a fight on his hands to get her to eat it.

Back in their rooms, Reina was much where they had left her, except that she was sitting on the floor by the outlet, now. When Noctis looked in on her he found her skimming through old pictures on her phone. He gave her a hug and the foil-wrapped package of food and let her alone for a little while longer, making sure she knew he was there if she wanted him to sit with her. She didn’t, so he joined the others in the lounge, instead.

They stayed up talking, hearing the rest of Iris’ tale, and they received what seemed like the first good news they had heard in a week. Luna was alive. She had been in Lestallum just days prior, according to the locals. It was a weight off his mind, but if she was alive it meant he could find her. He _needed_ to find her. The problem was he hadn’t the slightest how to go about doing that. And he was supposed to be looking for the royal tombs, not Luna. It made him restless to know she was so close without being able to just _see_ her.

That was something to drive him forward, at least. It was more than Reina had.

Noct checked in on her later to find she hadn’t moved and hadn’t touched her dinner. He sat down with her and opened the package. Between poking and prodding and distracting her with more cheerful thoughts, he managed to convince her to eat some of it. By the time they both gave up, everyone else seemed ready for bed.

There were only two—and the couch outside. It seemed immediately agreed that Reina would be given one of the beds; the others had to fight for the prime real estate. Noctis ended up sharing with his sister. He didn’t mind—though he made a point of telling her that he did. She didn’t believe him, as usual.

Typically he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night. Years had passed since the last time he had really shared a room with his sister. There was the odd night when she stayed at his apartment and they invariably fell asleep on the couch sometime near dawn, but that wasn’t at all the same. The point being that the days when she woke him in the middle of the night with a nightmare were long gone, and those had been more or less the only times he had woken so frequently. Tonight, however, he did wake. Thankfully, there were no dreams.

There were no dreams because Reina hadn’t gone to sleep at all—or so he guessed when he woke to her slipping out of the bed and pulling her shoes on.

“Rei,” Noctis sat up, stopping her before she reached the door. He kept his voice to a low whisper to avoid waking anyone else. “Where are you going?”

“To sleep with Dad,” she said.

For a moment he wondered if she _wasn’t_ asleep. She didn’t usually walk in her sleep, but she _did_ sometimes have trouble distinguishing reality from her dreams. And when they were younger, sharing a room in the Citadel, it wasn’t uncommon for her to slip out in the middle of the night to go to their father’s room. He couldn’t quite tell if she was stuck in those memories, or something else entirely.

“Reina… Dad’s gone.” He said it slowly, cautiously. Was she even aware of that? Was he going to have to be the second person to tell her their father was dead? He wasn’t certain he could do it.

She sighed. “I know. But his car isn’t. Goodnight, Noct.”

She slipped out of the room, closing the door with the utmost care, and disappeared. Noctis was left staring at the door for a moment. So she wasn’t dreaming. She just wanted to feel closer to their father through the one thing they had left of him. And that… Noct could relate to.

He didn’t bother lacing his boots up all the way before he left. Probably Ignis would wonder where they were when he woke up in the morning, but he was too logical to panic about it. He would have found them before that point.

Reina was laying across the back seat when he arrived. She didn’t say a word to him as he climbed in beside her, unceremoniously displacing her by taking over the vast majority of the bench. She didn’t even glare at him. She just curled up next to him with her head on his chest. There wasn’t anything else to say, so Noct didn’t say it, either.

It _should_ have been uncomfortable. The Regalia wasn’t wide enough to fit his sister lying down and it certainly wasn’t wide enough for him. But in spite of the fact that his feet stuck over the door, in spite of the fact that he didn’t have wiggle room unless he wanted to push his sister off, in spite of the fact that he had no pillow but his arm…. It was so much more comfortable than the hotel bed.

“Goodnight, Rei.”


	16. Two Halves, Apart

######  _19 May, 756:_

_(Two days after)_

For as long as she could remember, Noctis had been there. Sometimes he was an ass, sometimes they got on each others nerves, sometimes they had shouting matches across the hall until servants dragged them apart into separate rooms of the Citadel, but that was just because they loved each other. When it mattered, when it really came down to it, they were each there for the other. Somehow, they always knew when it was important without being told.

It had been nearly four years since the last time they had lived under the same roof. In the grand scheme of things, nothing had changed. They didn’t have to share a bedroom or be sewn together at the hip in order for Noctis to know what she was thinking. That night he followed her out to the Regalia because he understood, though she hadn’t told him. He felt the same thing, deep down: the aching need for whole-ness, the feeling of being torn apart and desperately trying to keep things together.

The feeling was reminiscent of what they had experienced when Noctis moved out of the Citadel, but so much worse. In spite of the pain and loneliness back then, nothing could compare to this. After all, even separated as they were in those days, they weren’t disconnected.

######  _Summer, 752:_

_(Four years before)_

It was a bit like what she expected getting torn in half to feel like. Noctis had never wanted to stay in the Citadel and she had _known_ he was going to move out, but it didn’t make it any easier. It was impossible to stay when he was leaving and it was impossible to leave when her father needed her. If it hadn’t been for the king she might have gone with her twin. Indeed, a few years ago she might have gone with him. But the past few months had been trying; ever since she had called an end to the council meeting for her father’s sake, she found it happening more and more frequently. It wasn’t every night, but he was tired so much more than before. And when he was tired he favored his right knee more than usual… but even that had been bleeding over to the every-day. She couldn’t, in good conscience, leave him. Clarus might have looked after him, but it was harder for the king to say no to his daughter than to his friend. He needed someone he couldn’t say no to.

So she stayed and her other half left. She had helped him move, intending to say her goodbyes and return to the Citadel after. But as the night wore on, she didn’t leave.

They ordered delivery and ate it on the couch because the couch was different. No more rules. No more formality. Just Noctis’ apartment, however he wanted. Reina couldn’t begrudge him that.

They tried out the new TV. Noctis teased her about always falling asleep during movies so she stayed determinedly awake, even if she hugged his arm and rested her head on his shoulder. He didn’t object because he was going to miss her, too, whatever he said.

It was nearly midnight when Reina’s phone rang. She fished it from her pocket and glanced at the screen.

“It’s Dad.”

“Weren’t you supposed to be home an hour ago?”

“More like five,” Reina winced. “He’s going to be so mad.”

She answered the call, holding her phone against her ear: “Hello, Father.”

 _“Reina.”_ He sounded relieved, rather than angry. Somehow that only made her feel worse. _“Is everything alright? I had expected your return somewhat earlier”_

“I—yes, Father, everything is fine. I’m just at Noct’s apartment still. Guess we lost track of time.” That was at least partially true. The other half was that she didn’t want to leave. There was a finality about leaving that she still wasn’t ready to face. “Do you need me to come home?”

_“No, there is no need. Your time with Noctis is your own; I shall not abbreviate it.”_

Reina felt a little bit guilty about that, as well. Father was going to miss Noct as much as she did, but he couldn’t just leave and lay on Noct’s couch whenever he wanted. There was nothing to do about that, though, except to make sure Noct really did come home for dinner sometimes.

“Would it be alright if I stayed? Until morning?” She didn’t ask Noctis if she could stay. He would make fun of her and avoid saying yes, but he didn’t want her to leave, either. Still, she tensed for the response, not certain if her father would say yes.

And there _was_ a moment of hesitation.

Then: _“Of course, my dear. I will see you tomorrow. Goodnight—and give Noctis my best wishes.”_

“I will. Goodnight, Father.”

She hung up as Noctis prodded her.

“I have to deal with you _all night_? Didn’t agree to that.”

Reina smiled innocently up at him. “You love me.”

Noct scoffed.

“Father sends his best. Now unpause it.”

“Of course, _Your Highness_.”

Noctis unpaused the film with a wave of the remote. Reina settled back against his shoulder, still smiling and feeling considerably more at ease now that goodbyes were postponed all the way until tomorrow. Eventually she would have to face the reality of living apart from her twin, but for that night, at least, she was curled up on the couch with him, cuddled closer than he otherwise would have allowed. She breathed in his scent—spearmint and spice—and it smelled like home. All that was missing was their father.  

They didn’t sleep much that night. Mostly they goaded each other awake and mutually agonized over the lack of food in Noctis’ new kitchen. Sometime before the sky grew light, however, they must have drifted off, as Reina remembered waking up. Waking up required having been asleep in the first place.

It was well past dawn. Reina didn’t usually sleep much past six; waking so late left her feeling groggy and disoriented. Or perhaps that was due to having stayed up all night. She and Noct were still on the couch. She had fallen asleep using his shoulder as a pillow. It hadn’t been very comfortable.

Reina slipped her phone from her pocket—that hadn’t been comfortable for sleeping, either—and looked at the time. She groaned.

“I was supposed to be in a meeting at ten.” She pressed her palm to her forehead and tried to force her brain to work again.

“Got plenty of time,” Noctis said without opening his eyes. She glanced at him, wondering if he was even awake.

“It’s almost noon, Noct.”

He opened one eye to look at her. “So early.”

She rolled her eyes and punched a number into her phone. She would need a ride back to the Citadel if she intended to get anything productive done that day, though half of it had already been burned away and her head still felt a bit fuzzy. On the upside, leaving Noctis in an apartment on his own didn’t sound so daunting in the middle of the day. Probably she would regret it when night came and she had to face the bedroom she now had all to herself, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

“Next time, stock your kitchen first,” Reina said once she had hung up her phone.

“You want to do that _again_?” Noct propped himself up on his elbows. “Who are you and what have you done to my sister?”

“Shut up.” Reina tumbled off the couch— _rose from_ was insufficient to describe the action—and went in search of her shoes and coat. By the time she had retrieved them and returned, Noct was sitting up and looking more awake than she felt.

“It was alright, but—“ She was forced to pause for a yawn. “Maybe not for a regular event.”

Noct flashed her a smile. “Whatever you say.”

Reina’s phone chimed not long after, signaling the arrival of her ride home. They walked out together and stood at the street just outside the car looking at each other mutely for a moment.

“Well… I guess I’ll see you.”

“Guess you will,” Noct said, not moving.

It seemed an insufficient goodbye. Reina lunged forward and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight.

“Don’t kill yourself, Noct.”

Noct smiled, hugging her back after a moment’s pause. “I’ll try not to.”

“See you soon.” Reina backed away toward the open and waiting car.

“Yeah. See ya.”

She ducked inside, certain that if she didn’t do it all at once she wouldn’t have the courage to do it at all. The door shut. She looked up to see Noct standing on the pavement outside as the car began to move forward. Their eyes met and she gave him one last wave before he was out of sight, then she let out a breath. It seemed a little bit stupid; it wasn’t like he was very far away. All the same, the Citadel was going to feel a lot more empty from then on.

The day passed more or less as usual, excepting the part where, for the first time in her life, Reina had to make an apology for her unexpected absence. She met with the king, who seemed genuinely pleased to have her back home. It was another reminder of her uncharacteristic absence. Dinner must have been a quiet affair without her, the night before. Father hadn’t eaten without at least _one_ of them at the table in seventeen years—though, she supposed that didn’t account for all the meals he had taken while working or skipped altogether. Still, the knowledge that she had left him on his own the same night that his beloved son moved out was heavy in her stomach. She felt guilty all day.

When night came she dined with her father. Noctis’ conspicuously empty chair sat on the opposite side of the table. If chairs could stare, it would have. Conversation was scattered and subdued. He asked about Noct and his new apartment and she answered with as much cheer as she could muster. Deep down she was happy for Noct. But it was _very_ deep down: underneath all the loneliness she felt from his new absence. Eventually they would adjust. It was just a matter of getting there.

After dinner they went up together. Her father leaned steadily on her arm, putting as little pressure on his right leg as possible. She didn’t comment. When he was tired his discomfort showed more prominently, which meant nearly every night when they walked together he used her for balance or support. It worried her. Not the growing likelihood that he would need a cane—though that was just a reminder of how heavily the ring weighed on him—but the possibility that the pain was hinting at some more troublesome problem. He always brushed off her concern, telling her it was to be expected. But her growing concern for his health had driven her to extracurricular studies and now she could name half a dozen different things that could have been wrong with his knee. It had been, perhaps, more a curse than a blessing to expand her education into the medical realm.

“You have plans to while away what remains of the evening?”

Her father’s voice broke through her thoughts. They had stopped outside Noctis’ and her room. Except it was just her room, now. Reina put her hand on the handle.

“I’ve got some reports to catch up on—Eldred was less-than-pleased at my absence. I think he gave me extra to teach me a lesson. If there’s time after I’ll get some studying in.” She pushed open the door but didn’t step inside; she looked up at her father, instead.

“No rest for the wicked,” he observed.

Reina smiled. “Nor for the virtuous. Actually, I suspect the wicked get far more than the rest of us. Have you ever seen Noctis studying?”

“No, indeed,” her father smiled. “And he never is at a loss for sleep.”

It was harder to forget he was gone when they were standing in the doorway of her empty room. Noctis’ bed was conspicuously neat. By this point in the day he usually would have messed it five times before the cleaning staff grew too exasperated and left it. Reina’s smiled slipped as her eyes settled on her brother’s spot.

“Reina?” Her father touched her hair.

She looked up at him, hazarding a smile. It turned out more melancholy than she would have liked. “It’s going to be a lot more quiet from now on.”

And empty. And terribly, _terribly_ lonely.

He pulled her into a hug. Tears that she hadn’t known she was holding back leaked from her eyes, but she wrapped her arms around her father and let out a breath. There were only two people in the world she didn’t think she could stand to be separated from. And now she lived miles away from one of them.

“I know it is hard for you two to be apart. You terrorize each other constantly, but that is sibling love, is it not?”

Reina gave a tearful laugh. “He would never admit that.”

“I have no doubt,” he said dryly, pulling back and resting his hands on her shoulders. He looked down at her affectionately for a moment before speaking again. “Get your books. Come keep an old man company, instead.”

That brightened her considerably. She gave him a smile and it was a real one, this time. Perhaps he suggested it to cheer her up, but later that night, while she sat in the comfortable quiet of his room, only to eventually fall asleep there, she knew it was just as important for him.


	17. Turn Out the Lights

######  _24 May, 756:_

_(Seven days after)_

Ten days ago, Reina had craved the feel of a soft bed and a hot shower, had believed she would never be comfortable sleeping on the ground in a tent while wearing the same clothes she had been trudging around in all day. Ten days ago, she thought she could never feel accustomed to leaving the comforts of the Crown City and the Citadel behind.

But for five days her hair had been tangled and matted with mud and she hadn’t noticed. Or, if she had, she didn’t care. She had been wearing the same clothes for a week. They probably didn’t even match; she wasn’t certain because she hadn’t seen a mirror in almost that long, but it seemed so trivial.

She hurt all over. Not just because they had hiked more in the past day than she was used to doing in a week, not just because she had been sleeping on a stone, wedged between her brother and Ignis, night after night. It was deeper than the ache in her muscles. It was deeper than her bones. It hurt where no salve could reach, where no potion could heal. It was in her heart, in her soul, eating away at her every minute of every day until it wasn’t even pain anymore. It was something dark and dirty and indescribable.

She was tired of hurting. She was tired of feeling, tired of hoping and dreaming. She just wanted to _stop_.

But Noctis needed her.

At night they stopped in Taelpar, pulling into the safety of floodlights just as the natural light of the sun was fading. There was a hotel with beds and running water. Reina washed away the inch of dirt she had accumulated, watched it run down the drain at her feet, and felt no satisfaction at being clean again. She pulled on clean clothes, dragged a comb through her tangled hair until it lay flat, and wiped a patch clear on the mirror to see her face. It didn’t look much like she remembered looking like. It wasn’t the dark circles or the hollow cheeks—she was used to being tired, used to working hard with scarcely enough rest. Before there had been a reason for it, though.

No, it was the emptiness. She looked in her own eyes and wondered if there was anyone behind them. Perhaps it should have unnerved her not to recognize herself, but it didn’t. In fact, she felt nothing at all.

She turned and left the bathroom, numb and disconnected. The boys were in the hotel room—all except Noctis—but even though she passed through the middle of them, they looked far away. She went outside, drawing looks that she didn’t notice, and found that the whole world looked that way. Once, as a child, she had put on Ignis’ glasses, just to see what he saw—the world looked a bit like that, now: like she was seeing everything through a lens that her eyes didn’t need.

Noctis was sitting on the overhang above the hotel. She stood below and looked up at him for a moment, considering. The look on his face was bland and neutral, but she knew better than to think he wasn’t perturbed. When they were younger they used to climb out on the balcony and hide away just to find space to think; that was what Noct was looking for, now. So she did the same thing that he would have done for her: she bought a pair of sodas from the vending machine and climbed to the overhang.

She checked her phone compulsively before she sat down next to him, feet dangling over the edge, and handed him a can. He took it and for a moment there were no words between them, just the pop of two cans opening and an empty silence. He would speak when he wanted to. Until then, Reina was left with her own dark thoughts as she studied the world through the new, strange lens.

There wasn’t much of a view, even sitting atop the hotel. The balcony in Insomnia had been so much better; she wondered distantly if it was still there or if the whole Citadel had collapsed. Not that it mattered; it was just an idle thought that crossed her mind.

“Remember when we used to sit out on the balcony at the Citadel after stealing snacks from the kitchens?”

Noct’s voice broke through her thoughts, like a hand reaching out in the dark. She reached back.

“After _you_ stole snacks from the kitchens,” she corrected.

“I noticed you never complained while you were eating them.”

She reached back and somehow missed his hand; the dark closed back in.

That was supposed to be funny, wasn’t it? At least mildly amusing. The sort of thing she should have smiled at, but her face didn’t remember how to smile, anymore.  She tried to fit her lips into a smile, to force muscles to remember something that should have been a reflex. It felt wrong, but he didn’t comment.

“The view was better,” Reina said, kicking her feet and looking back out over all three of the buildings on the other side of the road.

“Yeah....”

They fell silent again, drinking sticky sweet soda and trying not to think.

“You ever feel like… we don’t know what the hell we’re doing?” Noct asked at length.

“Every day,” Reina affirmed.

“Everyone thinks I’m going to be this king. The Chosen One. And I keep grasping, just _hoping_ that the next step will make me that. If I claim the power of the royal arms, I think, _then_ I can be a king, but… it’s not that easy, is it? Looking at Dad and thinking I’ve got to be that. He is—was— _so much more_ than than the Armiger, than the ring or any of that stuff. He was more and I’ll _never_ be that.”

Reina’s hand covered his where it rested on the roof between them. He didn’t pull away. It had always been like that between them—at least for the past twelve years. Noctis kept everything inside, usually, but sometimes it was too much to hold onto by himself so they sat somewhere quiet and he told her what she already knew: that he still didn’t believe he could fill their father’s shoes. He never had believed and it had always frightened him. It would have frightened her, too, if it was her. If she still felt things.

Who could have lived up to their father?

“Dad is… what we always wanted to be,” Reina voice was soft when she finally spoke. Perhaps she couldn’t feel, but she could still think. She didn’t look at him, but her hand held his tight. “And more than we could ever be. But that doesn’t mean he should ever stop being the ideal you hold up. I don’t think you’re doing poorly; I think you just have to take this as it comes.”

“Well, you always measured closer anyway. Always on top of everything going on in the kingdom,” Noct said.

She glanced at him. What a peculiar thing to say.

“How strange that you think that,” she said, turning her eyes back out to the night. Not once had it seemed to her that she was on top of things in the kingdom. Occasionally she felt useful, like she had a place and a purpose. But if she had to draw a diagram the top is certainly not where she would have placed herself on it.

“I just tried to make myself useful to Father and I guess he took me up on the offer. I don’t think it’s the same thing as knowing what to do,” said Reina.

“At least you showed an interest.”

“I suppose. And perhaps that’s the only reason why he let me do what I did. But Noct—sitting on council, holding court, talking to the media, or attending pompous cocktail parties—none of that is helpful here at all.” She half-turned to look at him. “You have something deeper. Maybe you don’t believe it, but Father did and I do. You have something innate and you’ll find your way. You won’t disappoint him.”  

“You think I’ve got value because of this destiny stuff?” Noct looked skeptical, but there was something hopeful hidden, deep down.

“I think you have potential… and I think you’ll fill it. So yes, I suppose I do.”

And, if it came down to it, she always had.

Noct took a drink of his soda, considering. There was an unspoken implication in her words. If she measured his worth based on that prophecy, what did she measure her own by?

He didn’t ask.


	18. Godtouched

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I forgot I posted this on AO3 also. It's finished. It's all on FFN if you don't want to wait for me to actually post the whole damn thing. In the meantime, I'll try to remember to actually post these chapters.

######  _29 May, 756:_

_(Nine days after)_

Fate would have it that the next royal tomb remained outside of their grasp, for a time. Increasingly sharp headaches, with some unknown connection to the recent earthquakes, plagued Noctis since they had left Lestallum. More concerning still were the visions he had along with the worst headaches. Visions of inhuman eyes, flame, and stone.

The visions brought them back to Lestallum, to look toward the Disc of Cauthess. That, in turn, brought them face to face with an unexpected visitor.

“What a coincidence!” The burgundy-haired man in garish attire turned from the lookout that was their destination.

Reina’s mouth went dry. The last time she had seen that face she had been beside her father’s throne, listening to lies about peace. He had been a snake then and he was a snake, now. He even had the right eyes, the twisting reptilian smile. If he stuck his tongue out, it would have been forked.

“Chancellor Izunia,” Reina said; her voice sounded as empty as she felt.

“Chancellor—?” Five pairs of eyes turned toward her. Her brother spoke the question, dumbstruck.

“The Imperial Chancellor?” Ignis turned back around, holding out one hand for his knife.

The chancellor clicked his tongue, putting on an air of disappointment. “Now you’ve gone and spoiled my secret. It’s lovely to see you again, too, Princess.”

“Give us one good reason not to kill you now, snake.” Reina reached for her own weapon. It leapt to her hand with a pull of power—Noctis’ power—the naginata that her father had given her on her sixteenth birthday. Noctis had received a sword that had once been the king’s own glaive, and, in lieu of the history and weight attached to Noctis’ gift, Reina’s had been made custom for her. It was a polearm, much like a lance or a spear, but with a long, one-sided blade on one end and a more heavily weighted staff. The weapon was five feet long altogether, scarcely an inch shorter than she was, with a curved blade on one end and an iron cap on the other for balance. She held it now in one hand, blade down toward the pavement, more than prepared to cut the smirk off the chancellor’s face. She just needed an excuse.

Looking at him now was like taking a step back in time—without the added benefit of being about to _do something_ about it. He was just as carefree, just as cocky as he had been the day he waltzed into the throne room without a single guard to deliver the Empire’s proposition of peace. _Peace_ . If it hadn’t been for that treaty, if it hadn’t been for _him_ ….

Instead of an answer to her question he gave a sneer. Faced with five blades held by hands that wouldn’t hesitate to end the life of anyone under the Emperor’s employ, he was unperturbed.

“Aren’t nursery rhymes curious things?” His eyes swept their faces, and though he found nothing but hatred there, he persisted as if they were all having a pleasant conversation. “Like this one: ‘from the deep the Archaeon calls, yet on deaf ears the god’s tongue falls. The king made to kneel, in pain he crawls.’”

So that was it. He knew something about Noctis’ persistent headaches. Reina was half tempted to run him through, anyway; they would figure things out, eventually. But the more rational side of her brain stayed her hand. They were lost. Completely and utterly without direction. They needed all the help they could get—especially if Noctis’ life was at stake.

“So… how do we keep him on his feet?” Prompto asked.

“You need only visit the Archaeon,” the chancellor said, as if this was the most simple thing in the world.

Legend said that Titan had caught the meteor when it struck the earth. If one believed such things, the Archaeon was supposedly still there, holding it up in the pit of constant fire. The problem with descending into the meteor—ignoring the obvious, that the interior was doubtless a bit like a volcano—was that it was behind a gate held by the empire. And yet, there they were, face to face with the Imperial Chancellor who was being _so_ accommodating.

“Let me guess…” Reina scowled. “You can get us in.”

If she cut out his tongue, he wouldn’t be able to utter lies anymore.

“Indeed,” the chancellor smiled, amiable as ever in spite of his situation.

What choice did they really have? None that were good.

With some little preparation, the Regalia sped from Lestallum on the tail of the Imperial Chancellor. Noctis had taken the driver’s seat, leaving Reina between Gladio and Ignis for once. Ignis was taller than Noct, but marginally thinner. He also didn’t periodically shove her into Gladio. The tradeoff was that Noctis was driving.

“Why didn’t you tell us he was the chancellor before?” Noctis glanced at her in the mirror.

“When before?” Reina raised an eyebrow at him. Was she expected to fill in twenty years of politics that Noctis had missed out on, hoping that something would be useful to him out here?

“In Gauldin, when we met him before,” Noct said.

“She wasn’t with us,” said Ignis.

Reina blinked, first confused, then cold all over. “You met him in Gauldin?”

“The first time we pulled in, yeah,” Noct said.

That had been the day after they left. An unpleasant voice in the back of Reina’s head reminded her that, at that time, their father had been alive and Insomnia intact. So what the hell had the chancellor been doing in Gauldin Quay instead of in the Crown City with the rest of the diplomatic attaché?

“I… lagged behind,” Reina said, thinking back. She had wanted to go home, still; she should have gone. Perhaps nothing would have changed, but it was easy to say in hindsight that she should have listened to that nagging feeling. “I caught up on the dock.”

“Still should have seen him. It doesn’t make any sense,” said Noctis.

Reina shook her head. The memory of their first afternoon in Gauldin wasn’t as sharp as the memory of their last night there, but she couldn’t imagine ever being unobservant enough to have walked past the Imperial Chancellor and _not_ seen him. “If I’d passed him I would have noticed.”

“It makes little difference, now. We will simply have to be cautious,” Ignis observed.

That was what Father had said, more or less, after Izunia had waltzed into the throne room the first time. No one really believed the flowered words that the chancellor had brought with him but knowing they were lies hadn’t helped. There had been little choice; if they didn’t accept the treaty then Niflheim would have crushed them, eventually, anyway. At least by walking into the trap knowing it was a trap there was some chance to spring it and emerge unharmed. But there was always a distinct possibility of getting crushed, all the same.

True to his word—much to Reina’s surprise—the chancellor _did_ take them to the Disc and get them inside. It was hot as soon as their feet touched the ground. But there was _one_ small blessing: there, laid out on the earth before a drop into the crater, was the tomb of one of their forefathers. If nothing else, it was some justification for coming if everything else turned out to be a wild goose chase.

“Four down,” said Noctis.

“Nine to go,” Reina finished.

Before there was a moment to wonder where to turn next, the earth shook beneath their feet. The tremor was all the more potent so close to the meteor; not a mere rumbling, but a proper rolling that knocked them off their feet. Stone cracked. The ancient tiles beneath the tomb shifted, tipping forward with Noctis still standing atop them.

“Noct—!” Reina took a step forward as the others shuffled back, farther from the edge. Noctis dropped to one knee, clutching his head with a groan.

“Get back!” Ignis grabbed her around the waist and threw her back onto solid ground. The ledge that Noct knelt on crumbled and dropped, taking her brother with it. Gladio followed, diving into the cloud of dust that rose and disappearing entirely.

As soon as the earth stopped shaking, Reina was on her feet again, standing at the new edge before the drop off and looking down into the dust. She held her breath, straining to see as her heart pounded painfully.

 _Not Noctis,_ she prayed silently, _Please: not my brother, too._

“Noctis?!”

For a moment they waited. Perhaps it was only a second or two, but to Reina it stretched on, like the time between rings when she had tried to call their father. He never did answer. She had been so sure she would hear his voice on the line like every other time before, but now never again.

Her brother’s voice came drifting back up through the cloud of dust. “Yeah?”

Reina exhaled. Her legs trembled, weak with relief, and she had to half double over with her hands on her knees to keep on her feet. Never had she been so happy to hear her brother’s voice. She hadn’t realized there were tears in her eyes before they fell, landing on the crumbling stone tiles.

“Noct! You okay?” Prompto called.

The dust had shifted enough to make out two figures below—both standing, both whole and unharmed.

“Thank heavens you’re safe.” Ignis’ voice carried well. “Is there a way back up?”

“No, but there’s a path,” Noctis’ voice responded. Reina could just make out his outline waving at them. “Gonna see where it leads.”

“You three try to get down,” called Gladio.

“Very well. We’ll look for a way,” Ignis responded. Reina straightened as he turned to look at her. “Your Highness?”

“Fine, yeah,” Reina swiped hurriedly at her eyes. “Let’s look.”

She may not have had any idea what she was doing, but Ignis had that sort of quiet self-assurance about him. He had always been like that. As Royal Advisor, she supposed it was his job to know what was going on, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t envious of it. It always seemed he was calm and composed no matter the situation. No trouble losing _his_ head in a crisis. That was a skill she would have liked to have.

Reina pushed that aside. Instead she moved, mind numb with the lingering fear at being separated from her twin, not good for much of anything. Years of academics amounted to nothing. Any skills she might have had were left in Insomnia, dead with her father.

They picked a path along the ridge with the hopes that they could find a way down that _wasn’t_ a sheer drop farther along. It was a short climb and a long walk. Footing was questionable at best, but they pressed on all the same, with no guarantee they were going anywhere at all. Reina glanced back more than once. There was no way down even as they continued, but that didn’t mean the path they took was the only one. Who was to say that there wasn’t something more promising farther over?  

Eventually a break opened up in their path. Across a short gap, sure footing continued on in more or less the same direction. To the right, however, there was a narrow ledge breaking away farther in.

“Which way?” Prompto asked, stopping beside her.

Ignis glanced at her. Reina hesitated. How was she supposed to know which path was the correct path? What if there wasn’t a correct path? What if both of them lead nowhere at all or, worse yet, to somewhere even more treacherous than their current position? What if she chose the wrong direction and they ended up stuck with no way back? What if there _was_ no way down to her brother and no way back up for him?

Her eyes flicked between the two paths, frozen with indecision. She couldn’t do this sort of thing. Or any sort of thing, really.

“Reina?”

She looked up at Ignis, the fear clear on her face.

He nodded, taking the initiative himself. “We take the ledge. Noctis will be heading deeper in, so we follow, as best we can.”

So they did. It was impossible to tell, still, if they were on the right path, but Reina was prepared to defer to Ignis’ judgement. Maybe he knew something she didn’t. Or maybe he was just better at pretending he did. Either way, she was no use. Predictably.

They weren’t much farther along before engines roared overhead. The three turned their eyes upward to find Magitek engines, gliding over them, doubtless carrying dozens of MTs toward Noct—wherever he was. So it had been a trap, hadn’t it? Were they really just floundering in this crater, separated and with no clear way out, waiting to be picked off by the Empire? It had been a stupid decision to trust the chancellor. But she hadn’t been willing to make a different one then, either.

“Imperials,” Ignis breathed.

“If they find Noct and Gladio—” Reina didn’t finish the thought that they were all probably having. Ignis had his phone out and pressed to his ear; it seemed a long shot to get signal in a place like this, but she hoped for it anyway, watching Ignis’ face.

She knew that Noct had answered from Ignis’ expression, even before he spoke.

“You’re safe. Good. Listen, imperial troops are near. They’ve just passed over us and will doubtless be looking for you.” A pause. “Noctis?”

Ignis made a sound of frustration, looking at his phone before stowing it in his pocket. “Lost the call—I have no idea how much went through, but at least they are still safe. We’d best get moving if we’re to catch them first.”

They picked up their pace, now following the Magitek engines as close as they were able. From there it was easier. The imperials could see where Noct was going, from the sky; from the ground _they_ could see where the _Imperials_ were going. The downside was that this put them directly in the path of landing MTs, as they drew closer. There was nothing for it but to cut through them.

With only three of them it was something more of a struggle than usual. There was still the constant pressure to be aware of where everyone else was—and while that was somewhat less difficult with only two other people, a lapse of attention could have meant someone else’s life. So could a misplaced step. Every stroke of her blade needed to be deadly and meaningful, precise without taking any more space than was absolutely necessary. That, combined with the fact that Reina’s naginata felt heavy and awkward in her hands, as it had done ever since they had left Insomnia, complicated matters.

She envied the way that Noctis and his friends cooperated seamlessly, like they had been born working together. Reina _had_ been born with him and couldn’t do it. She never knew where to put her feet or which steps to make. And so, much as she hated herself for it, she hung back, on the defensive, and resorted to pushing MTs over the edge as the opportunity presented itself.

“Look—below!”

Reina looked where Ignis pointed. Not that far beyond them, in the center of the Disc, was a colossal man made of stone and fire.

Titan.

On his shoulders he held the meteor; its spines jutted around him. The burden didn’t seem to restrict him overmuch. On the rocks closest to him and level with his torso stood Noctis; Reina watched, her eyes wide, as Titan brought his fist down on her brother. She was too afraid to scream, but she needn’t have bothered, anyway. Stone met steel as Noctis brought his blade up, parrying blow after blow.

“Noct…” Reinas breathed, her own weapon forgotten in her hands.

It was so easy to tease him about being The Chosen One, growing up. He was always so bored with lessons, doing anything to get out of them, preferentially spending his time on naps or video games. Sometimes it was hard to imagine him as anything but her wayward brother.

But there he was, standing in the middle of the smoking crater, dueling with a god.

Not one other among them could have done it.

“Let’s go!” Ignis cried.

Reina and Prompto hurried after as Ignis cut a path down the slope toward Noctis. Along the way they joined with Gladio and the four raced on through admittedly treacherous terrain to reach the prince. Titan’s hand came down, palm striking the earth, narrowly missing Noctis and sending the others stumbling.

“Noctis!” Reina called her naginata once more and joined her brother’s side.

“Are we alright?” Gladio asked.

“Getting by,” Noct admitted. Reina managed a shaky smile at that; maybe he was battling Titan, but he was still Noctis underneath. He flashed her a crooked grin, but there was no time for more. Titan’s arm was moving once more.

They had never faced a foe of his likes. Steel on stone seemed to do very little and every step had to be chosen carefully when Titan raised his hand. Before long there were the MTs to contend with, as well. They were marginally easier to deal with; at least they could be killed, at least they weren’t made of rock and magic. Noctis seemed the only one who could touch the astral, in any case. She tried not to let herself dwell on that. If she did, she knew she would only be distracted. But it was difficult to focus when she watched her twin cast his magic to freeze the god’s arm and summoned the power of their ancestors against it.

Noctis with the armiger. He always said there was no way he could ever be this king, that he could ever live up to what their father had been, but when she watched him call the royal arms and send them, one after another, in an unending barrage against Titan, she didn’t seem him falling short. She saw him reaching new heights like she never could have. She saw the ghost of their father, and what he must have once been in his youth. Everyone had to start somewhere.

The image stayed with her. It hovered in the back of her mind even as Titan’s arm shattered, as he spoke in a booming, meaningless voice and blessed Noctis with his gift—Noctis, her _brother_ , with the power of a god!—It stayed even as the Disc crumbled around them and they were left with nowhere to turn but back into the jaws of the snake that had brought them there in the first place.

Somehow they survived. Somehow all five of them ended up back at the chocobo post in Duscae, minus only the Regalia.

 _Only_.

It was decided with minimal conversation that they would stay in the caravan for the night and decide what to do about the rest in the morning. No one had much energy to do anything else. But, in spite of the exhaustion, even after a shower, Reina was restless. She would have liked to blame it on the lack of clean clothes—everything they owned had been left in the car—but it was much more than that. It was that absence. They had already lost the king and now his car was in the hands of the Empire, more likely than not.

There were thoughts of Noct swirling around her mind, as well. She had known for most of her life that he would be the True King, but it had just been words, before. Before he was her twin. Now he was beyond that, walking a path she couldn’t follow.

“Hey.”

Reina pulled her eyes from her phone to see Noctis standing over her. She sat in the dirt, leaning against the outside of the caravan; she hadn’t even heard him come out.

“Hey,” she murmured.

He dropped down to sit next to her. “We’ll get it back, you know.”

She didn’t have to ask to know he was talking about the Regalia, just as he hadn’t needed to ask to know she was thinking about it. “Yeah.”

They were silent for a few moments. Reina’s mind kept playing those images in front of her eyes: Noctis and the Armiger, Noctis and the Gods. it wasn’t that she was envious of his abilities, but she was envious of his _place_. He had this path, but hers had been burned by the empire weeks ago. Now all that was left was to live and hope she could help her brother in some way.

“You were just like Dad, today,” Reina said at length.

“Huh?” Noct raised his eyebrows at her.

She hugged his arm and tilted to rest her head against his shoulder. “You called the royal arms and all I could think was that it was just like him. You fought a _god_ , Noct—and you won! Or as close as anyone can get to winning.”

“You were there, too, remember? I don’t recall you sitting back and having a drink while I was fighting.”

“I was just there, though,” Reina said. “You’re walking Dad’s path and I can’t ever go there. You will be just like him, you know. Maybe more. Dad never had the astrals’ blessings.”

“What happened to you’re good at everything and I’m good at nothing?” Noctis teased.

She smiled up at him, but she knew it was bitter. “There was only ever one thing I was much good at. One reason I was fighting so hard. But he’s… dead.” The last word came out a whisper. Tears welled in her eyes but she rubbed them away. “I’ll never be strong like you are. Like Dad.”

“Hey.” Noctis twisted to look at her, pulling his arm out of her grasp and grabbing her shoulders. “That’s bullshit and you know it. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, because I’m really bad at this consolation stuff. You’re good at a bunch of stuff and only a little of it had to do with taking care of Dad.”

He gave her a firm shake, as if to knock some sense into her head, and Reina managed a small smile. It was melancholy, rather than bitter. He was right about one thing, at least. Self-pity wasn’t going to get them anywhere.

“Besides.” Noctis let her go and put his back against the caravan again. “You are strong like Dad. You were stronger than him… the last few years.”

Reina hugged her knees to her chest and looked out over the pens of chocobos at the post as the first few raindrops began to fall.

“That doesn’t change just because he’s gone.” Noctis climbed to his feet, brushing off his trousers before offering his hand to her. “Come on. Moping time is over. We’re not sitting out here in the rain.”

She took his hand and let him pull her up. “I’m going to sleep in your bed.”

Noctis groaned. “I’m gonna push you out.”

“Not if I push you out, first.”

“You can’t push _me_ out of _my_ bed.”

“Watch me.”

Reina _did_ follow him to bed. She didn’t push him out. She just lie awake staring at the glowing screen of her phone in the dark of the caravan, skimming through old pictures and thinking about what he had said: that she was strong like their father. It wasn’t true, of course—she could hardly take on one MT without faltering, now—but maybe once…. There had been those years, as the price of the ring began to show more starkly, when she had mustered some strength. For _him_.


	19. Rise and Fall

######  _Winter, 753:_

_(Three years before)_

Winter wore on as life settled into a new normal in Noctis’ absence. For the past few months, Reina had spent some hours of her weekend free time sitting in court beside the king. If she had thought it was nerve-wracking to be up on a dais with eyes fixed on her, it was nothing to the first time her father had asked her—without space for refusal—to address a problem on her own. Granted, that time it had been following a discussion of the issue in question the previous day, so he had known more or less how she would respond, but it hadn’t made the unexpected experience any less jarring. Since then the king had continued pushing her forward, perhaps hoping to cure her of that shocked look she invariably wore when he indicated that she should take responsibility. So far it hadn’t worked, entirely. But she was making progress.

In addition, Reina continued to attend her father’s meetings with his council, night after night, in part because it was important and in part because if she didn’t, they could have gone on indefinitely. And the king was growing too tired for that.

Tonight was no exception. Reina felt more than saw the tell-tale signs that his strength was faltering. She shifted on the arm of his chair, settling her hand against his back; he let out a slow breath and leaned, imperceptible to an external observer, toward her. Beneath her hand she felt more bone than muscle. Just one more reminder of what the Wall was doing to him.

Three years ago her father had some lingering black in his hair. Now it was all silvered with age: turned pale and feathery. He let his beard grow thicker to hide the hollowness in his cheeks. Nothing, however, could be done about the ashen color that his skin was slowly turning, nor the deepening lines in his face, nor the fact that his suit hung a little more loosely beneath the cape. And yet, he bore it all so well that one would hardly notice unless they were looking. He always walked straight and upright when they were around others, no matter how his knee troubled him, and there was still that stubborn tilt to his jaw, that fixed determination in his eyes. Unwavering, in spite of it all. Or so it very much seemed from the outside.

But when they stepped away from other eyes he leaned on her arm to walk; he shut his eyes just a little longer than usual, as if to block out the world; he held her a little bit tighter, knowing that a day would come when he wouldn’t be able to.

So Reina let him lean. She hugged him as tight as she dared and stayed when he wouldn’t ask for it. He deserved that much and more. And tonight, as she had many nights before, she called an end to his council meeting without being bidden, her eyes daring anyone to give challenge.

No one objected. Over a year had gone by since the first time she had done it. Bit by bit, people were learning that the well-mannered princess disappeared where her father’s well-being was concerned.

“Goodnight, Regis, Princess Reina.” Clarus left last, this time, giving a brief bow to each of them before exiting the room.

The door fell shut with a sort of finality. The king let out a sigh that was half groan and leaned back in his chair.

“Father?” Reina turned to look at him, smoothing her hand over the back of his shoulders.

His head had tipped back against his chair, his eyes shut, but he responded all the same: “Mayhap you kept all the sense I lost during my battle for dignity.”

He opened his eyes to look at her and a wry smile quirked his lips, in spite of the exhaustion on his face. Reina gave him half a smile in return. It was all she could muster through the concern.

“I promise to hold onto it for you. It must be difficult to carry sense and your mule-headed stubbornness all at the same time,” she said, reprimanding in spite of her best intentions.

He laughed: it was the sort of laugh that was just as much surprise as amusement. Then he sat forward, squeezing her knee and letting his hand fall away so she could stand.

“Whenever did you become so sharp to your own father?”

Reina slid off his chair and stood to one side, putting on an expression of mock consideration. “I think… it was when my father started needing a firm kick in the rear for his own sake.”

It was gratifying to hear him laugh. After so many hours straining and worrying and carrying the whole weight of the kingdom on his shoulders he needed to. Reina was just pleased that she could give it to him. She stood by, a content little smile on her face; there was still that persistent worry underneath, but it was easier to forget about when her father laughed. He looked years younger.

He pushed himself up out of his chair, turning and taking one step on his good leg before the other buckled beneath him. And just like that all good cheer and laughter evaporated.

“Father—!” Reina was only half a step away, having been prepared to take his arm in the first place. Instead she lunged to catch him, putting his weight across her shoulders and lifting with her legs.

He wasn’t as heavy as he should have been. That, perhaps, startled her more than anything else.

“I am fine,” he said, once he had his good leg beneath him once again.

All the same, Reina tucked herself beneath his arm and wrapped hers around his waist. She didn’t feel much like scolding him, anymore. She didn’t even want to tell him he _wasn’t_ fine. She just wanted to get him back to his room and pray that a good night’s sleep helped _something_. They took the few steps to the door in that way, her bearing the brunt of his weight when he stepped on the right. At the door they paused; she knew full well that he didn’t want to walk through the Citadel like that.

“Can you walk with just my arm?”

A pause. Hesitation, or consideration?

Then, finally: “No.”

It was the first time she could remember him admitting that he needed help. She might have been pleased that he had if she hadn’t loathed the situation so much. She turned to catch his eye. His eyebrows came together and arched up in the middle, showing his discomfort and regret at even that one word. No amount of wanting to be leaned on could make up for that pain.

She did the only thing she could think to; she stood on her toes and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Then I will be your strength.”

“And my dignity?” He asked bitterly.

“If you wish. I’ll hold onto it until you have a free hand again.”

Somehow that earned a smile from him. It wasn’t wry, nor amused, like the expression that had been on his face only moments ago. Instead it was grateful, in spite of the bitterness—or through it.

The walk to the elevator took understandably longer than usual. Luckily, there were only staff about, and if the strange sight attracted their eyes, the ferocity with which the princess glared at them sent them quickly on their way again. When they reached the door to his room, however, they were not so fortunate. There were always crownsguards somewhere in the hall. These ones just happened to be in the right place to offer their concern.

“Your Majesty!”

This time it was Reina who halted them with a raised hand. The king stared determinedly ahead, as if he hadn’t seen them at all. It was easier for him not to acknowledge the guards than to admit his situation.

“His Majesty is fine. Return to your posts,” Reina said in a tone that left no room for questions—a tone she borrowed from her father while he was mute.

Surprise showed on their faces for a moment, but not hesitation. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Pleased though she was that her command had been obeyed so neatly, Reina would have preferred that they hadn’t encountered trouble in the first place. Every person they passed seemed to add to her father’s tension. It was a relief when she finally opened the door to his room and helped him to his bed. Under normal circumstances he might have commented on her use of his signal and tone. But his good humor had vanished, replaced instead by annoyance to hide the mortification. Noct got that from him.

“Damn this knee!” He growled pulling his collar free and tossing it across the room. “By tomorrow the whole staff as well as the Crownsguard will be muttering that the king cannot walk on his own.”

Reina watched the ruff hit the far wall, her expression unchanging.

“Father,” she sat down beside him, taking one of his hands in both of hers and looking levelly up at him. “Everyone knows what you are doing for us. If they can fault you for sacrificing your strength for the sake of the city then they can leave.”

His expression softened as he looked at her. He squeezed her hands in return and lifted his other one to smooth over her hair.

“You are much too kind to me, in spite of all the time I have spent to convince you it is needless.” He leaned forward to kiss her forehead before releasing her.

“I know better,” Reina said.

“Not fooled in the slightest?” His hands moved to work at the buckles that kept his cape in place. Reina shifted forward to work from the opposite side.

“Not for a moment.”

“Then I am even more fortunate than I first thought,” he gave her a small, melancholy smile.

When the cape was free and set aside, the king leaned back until he lay sideways across the bed, his feet still on the ground. For a moment he just stared at the ceiling, unseeing, while Reina shifted to sit beside him. Then his eyes flicked to her and he patted the bed beside him in silent invitation. Reina leaned forward, but before laying down she unhooked his crown from behind his ear and set it with his cape. Only after that did she stretched out on her stomach, trapping his outstretched arm beneath her. He didn’t object, but he did shift enough to wrap both arms around her.

“I’ll get you a cane tomorrow,” she said, turning toward him.

He didn’t tell her he didn’t need one, this time. Of course, she hadn’t asked, but his silence still settled like finality between them. No more lies to cover the truth. There weren’t any left. Not anymore.


	20. The King's Glaive

######  _ Spring, 753: _

_ (Three years before) _

 

A month passed with hardly an incident; the king accepted his new cane with uncharacteristic meekness and adjusted. After that he had less need of her arm to lean on. Invariably, his knee did worse in the evenings and when he was tired. Reina made a habit of keeping schedule of his meetings to prevent them from going too late, but it wasn’t always possible to attend every one.

 

A yawn so big that it blotted out her vision gripped Reina’s skull. When her jaw clicked shut she rubbed her streaming eyes and looked up from the textbook in front of her. The dining room was empty save for the one crownsguard who stood at the door. What remained of her dinner had long since been cleared away leaving her with nothing but homework for company. 

 

Her eyes drifted to the empty chair usually occupied by her father and she let out a sigh. It wasn’t the first time he had promised to make it to dinner and then gotten tied up in his work instead. Far from it. Indeed, by this time in her life, Reina nearly expected it. That didn’t make it less disappointing, though.

 

Originally she had intended to wait for him; many nights she sat in on his meetings, but this essay was due the following morning and it was still only half finished. Now the clock dragged on toward ten and she found her mind occupied by thoughts of the king, alone but for his council, growing steadily more weary with no one to call an end to the night and spare his pride. He never would, himself. 

 

She stared down at the papers before her, filled with her tidy handwriting, and tapped her pen against the open textbook. After a moment she gathered up the papers, stacked them in the book and shut it, gathering everything up and rising to her feet. There were some things that were more important than school work, whatever she might have told Noctis. This was one of those things. 

 

The guard at the door watched her as she approached, pulling the door open for her.

 

“Your Highness.”

 

“Thank you.” Reina didn’t stop, though she did resettle her skirt. Her casual attire didn’t exactly scream ‘respect my authority,’ but it would have to do. Usually when she attended council meetings or court she took care to remind everyone who she was; not the same little girl who had crept into her first meeting nine years ago, not just the daughter of the king in name, but in function and form as well. That meant dressing the part. Somehow, she suspected her youth would be difficult to forget when she was still wearing her school uniform. There was no helping it, though. Tonight she would just have to make up for the loss of formality with extra spirit.

 

There was, of course, every possibility that the king was still doing well. His energy wasn’t  _ consistently  _ low, but it was averaging decidedly lower than it had been a few years ago. If she entered to find him in good health and spirits then she would wait with him until the meeting concluded or she ended it herself. Her essay could wait for that, as well.

 

Outside the council chamber, the attendants bowed at her approached before pulling the doors open for her. They had come a long way from debating whether or not to let her pass. Reina slipped inside with her head high and her back painfully straight.

 

The whole council was within; it was a small wonder that they had gone on so long. When everyone was present, everyone wanted to contribute five times over. The kingdom might have been twice as efficient if it was consistently ruled by half the people. But it would have meant more work on already overburdened plates. 

 

Eyes turned toward her and her lips formed the now-familiar apology: “Pardon my intrusion.”

 

There were murmured greetings, but Reina didn’t look around the table or bother to acknowledge them—she didn’t, usually, as to do so would have taken unnecessary time from more important matters—instead her gaze settled immediately on the king. He sat up a little straighter in his chair at her entrance, and though he didn’t greet her his expression said as much as she needed to hear. It wasn’t a smile. It was hope and relief. 

 

And it was more than enough to make a decision by.

 

“I apologize if this is inopportune, but I must insist that this meeting is adjourned for the night. It has gone on for too long without pause, and I am certain you will all benefit from a hot meal and a good night’s sleep.”

 

It might have been the case that all of them would benefit, but, though she said it, the only one of them she cared about was her father. The others could go on arguing this or that until they starved, for all it mattered in comparison. 

 

There were a few exchanged looks—some cast their eyes toward the king, who looked only at Reina with that same expression on his face—but ultimately they did excuse themselves in twos and threes until the room was empty save for Reina and her father. He was smiling properly, now, though he drooped with exhaustion once they were alone.

 

“I daresay my council has some choice words to say about the princess behind closed doors.”

 

“I’m sure they do,” Reina scowled at the door over her shoulder before striding across the room to him. “But I don’t really care so long as they don’t cross me.”

 

The king gave a low chuckle at that, taking his cane in hand and accepting her help up. “You sound like my daughter, sometimes.”

 

“And the rest of the time?” She took his right arm with her left; he walked well enough with just his cane, but Reina liked the closeness of walking on his arm.

 

He cast her a sideways glance. “The rest of the time you’re your mother’s daughter.”

 

“What was Mother like?” He used to tell them stories about their mother, when she and Noctis were younger, but she asked now within the context of his comment, wondering what it was that brought her to mind.

 

“Kind.”

 

‘Kind’ wasn’t a word that Reina would have used to describe herself. In fact, she was fairly certain that no one had ever applied that word to her before. But she gave to her father a sort of tender love that no one else experienced. Usually she would have had a retort pertaining to how cruel she was, but something about the way he said it kept the sarcasm in check. So she just smiled, instead. 

 

The walk to the king’s chambers was slow, but not uncomfortable. He didn’t lean on her, just his cane, but he took his time all the same. It was a testament to how tired he really was. 

 

Once inside, Reina helped him to one of the high-backed, emerald green armchairs in the sitting room and set her textbook on the coffee table. 

 

“I’ll have them bring your dinner up.”

 

“Thank you, my dear.” He sighed, sitting back in his chair and shutting his eyes. 

 

She sent the message through her cell phone; the kitchen staff had already prepared a meal for him, having expected the king at dinner. It was just a matter of having someone deliver it. In the meantime, she helped him out of his formal outerwear and went to hang them in the adjacent room.

 

No sooner had she finished the task than her father called out to her. There was tense warning in his voice that sent her running back to the sitting room.

 

The king was on his feet, his right hand held out to his side. Ambling toward him from the opposite doorway was an armored man with a mask for a face and red lights where eyes ought to have been. Reina hadn’t seen an MT since she was eight. But there it was. In Insomnia. In  _ the Citadel _ . 

 

There was no time to dwell. It advanced on the king, sword drawn, and for a second Reina forgot how to breathe. She was frozen; up until then, all her battles had included friends rather than foes. The king had the experience, but his sword hand remained conspicuously empty. It shouldn’t have taken so long to summon a weapon; Reina lacked that ability, but she knew this was too long. 

 

One second, two second, three seconds passed.

 

“Father—!” 

 

Reina ducked for her boot knife. 

 

The MT’s sword came up, then swung down in an arc. Her father had none. The blade met his cane instead. Miraculously, it held. From the king’s empty hand sprang lightning, sharp and crackling. The sound split the air, deafening, and the light blinding Reina for an instant. She hesitated, free hand raised to shield her eyes while the other held tight to her knife. Before she could see again it seemed half a dozen things happened.

 

The king cried out in pain. The lightning ceased. The MT, smoking, took a stumbling step backward, but it wasn’t dead. While her father doubled forward, one hand raised to his face, the MT raised its sword once more. 

 

She didn’t need to have ever been in true combat to know what the block for an overhead swing looked like. She dove forward and brought her knife up. The sword struck at an angle, sliding off. Reina followed through with with the counter, striking for its hand. Pain would have been sufficient to disarm a human, but this called for more. Her knife sliced; the MT’s blade fell to the floor with hand still attached. She pressed her advantage. One step forward, shifting momentum, and she threw her weight behind the neck strike. 

 

Electricity crackled. It arced and Reina jerked her hand back. Behind her, the door swung open, admitting the crownsguards just as the red lights faded and the MT collapsed with her knife still in its neck.

 

“Your Majesty! Wha—”

 

Reina rounded on them. Whatever expression was on her face it stopped their words dry. The adrenaline was still pumping through her, enough that her hands trembled and her heart raced. Now the only thing to direct it to was anger. And she  _ was  _ angry. The crownsguards in the Citadel had one main objective: protect the royal family. And here these fools had been standing outside while a Magitek soldier attacked the King of Lucis.

 

“‘What’ is fucking right! What the hell is this?  _ What the hell have you been doing?”  _ Reina took a step forward. The two guards in the doorway took a step back, bumping into each other. 

 

If she hadn’t been there... If he hadn’t been late for dinner, prompting her to walk him back to his room… he wouldn’t be drawing breath any longer.

 

“There’s a  _ Gods damned  _ MT in the king’s room and you’re outside sitting on your fucking thumbs. What the hell do we pay you for?!”

 

“Reina…” 

 

Her father’s voice was quiet, but it was enough to silence her. She turned to find him still on one knee with only his cane for support; his right hand pressed against the side of his face. The fire in her chest died on the spot, replaced with gut-wrenching concern.

 

“Father—” He had cried out just before his spell ceased, she remembered, now. Had his hold wavered enough to let the MT’s blade find its mark? Had his own magic struck him? And why hadn’t he just summoned his own sword? She had  _ seen  _ her father fight before, watching him drive back daemons and darkness. A single Magitek soldier should have been easily dispatched by him.

 

Reina dropped to her knees in front of him. She covered his hand with hers, drawing it away from his face. 

 

Around one side of his eye was a spindly burn, curving and twisting like the lightning that had caused it. Her other hand grasped his chin, lifting his face to get a better look at it. She let out a breath. Magic like that wasn’t meant to be used in such close quarters. Especially not when one had a metal crown on. 

 

“It’s alright, Father. It’s just a burn; I can fix it.” She released his chin and brushed her fingers over his unharmed cheek, giving his fingers a squeeze before shifting to tuck underneath his arm. 

 

With the right application of lift from his daughter and some help from his cane, the king was soon settled back in his chair. The crownsguards in the doorway stepped forward uncertainly but halted at the glare Reina gave. When she had straightened and turned back around there was a third person in the doorway: a very wide-eyed servant holding a tray and hovering behind the two guards.

 

“Thank you, you can set that down here. Then please find Marshal Leonis and Master Amicitia and send them here.” Reina beckoned to the servant, putting a stopper on the anger and fear that bubbled inside her. Once the servant was gone, there were only a few more matters to see to.

 

“You,” Reina pointed to one of the guards. “Get rid of this thing. Dump it in Cor’s office, I don’t care. Just get it out of here. And you,” she settled blazing eyes on the other, “Since you clearly cannot be trusted to keep His Majesty safe, I want you to go to my room and retrieve the little glass jar from my bathroom counter.”

 

“Yes, Your Highness,” chorused the two crownsguards. Reina turned back to her father as the others moved to do as they were bidden. 

 

As irritated as she was, all trace of anger faded to concern as she lowered herself to the arm of his chair, taking one of his hands in both of hers. His head tilted back to rest against the armchair as he opened his eyes to look at her. There were a hundred questions she wanted to ask, but she bit them all back. 

 

“Are you alright?” she asked, instead.

 

“Yes… I believe I will be fine.” His voice was low and tired, tight with pain in spite of his words.

 

They were alone but for a second between the first guard hauling the MT out and the second one returning with the requested jar. 

 

“Get out,” she snapped as she snatched it from his hands. He hurried away, only too glad to do so. 

 

“Never have I seen you so incensed,” the king observed.

 

“Are you surprised? If I have any say in it, they’ll lose their jobs.” At that moment she would have voted for the loss of their heads, but that desire wouldn’t last.

 

“It may not have been their fault,” her father sighed, shutting his eyes.

 

Reina shook her head, unscrewing the top of the jar and dabbing her fingers in the white cream.

 

It wasn’t a burn ointment or, at least, it hadn’t been before. Among the various magics that the royal family had control over was a sort of healing magic. It was indirect; something more akin to alchemy where the only things they mixed were everyday items and some of their own energy. The results could be incredibly powerful, with the right object: drinks that could stem bleeding and accelerate the body’s natural healing or, in this case, a simple hand cream transformed into a balm that would heal the burns on the king’s face. 

 

Most of the family’s magic seemed to have skipped Reina, for whatever reason. She didn’t have the ability to draw a weapon from thin air; she couldn’t warp or pass through solid objects; she wasn’t any good with elemancy. But this part she  _ had  _ inherited. For that she was thankful, especially now.

 

“The neglect was theirs—but never mind that, now. Where was your sword?” Reina voiced the first question on her mind, now that they were alone.

 

His eyes opened to look at her once more. She met his gaze before tracing the line of the burn with balm. 

 

The king winced as she touched his face, but didn’t pull away.

 

“Sorry,” she murmured.

 

He was silent for a moment, shutting his eyes again as his brow furrowed in pain. She began to wonder if he would answer her question about his sword at all. Eventually, he did.

 

“Out of my reach. As if it was too far away and, regardless of how I stretched, I could never grasp it.”

 

Reina felt an uncomfortable lurch in her stomach. There had been too many unpleasant surprises already that night; to hear that her father couldn’t summon his weapons was just one more blow. For a moment her hand stilled. Everything felt very cold, suddenly. If he couldn’t summon his weapons he had only his magic for defense, but worse than that it was one more outward sign of the price he was paying to keep them all safe. 

 

He opened his eyes and met her shocked gaze. Reina shut her mouth with a snap. This was her father, the king: one of the two people in the world that she would have given everything for. When his knee weakened she became his strength. When his pride faltered she held his dignity. Now she would be his sword.

 

“Then I will be your blade,” she said.

 

“Reina…”

 

He didn’t get the chance to object. At that moment, Cor, the commander of the Crownsguard, entered at a run. Not far behind was Clarus, with a face befitting having been told only that there was a dead Magitek soldier in His Majesty’s room and nothing more. There wasn’t much else to tell.

 

“Regis—what happened?” Cor stopped inside the door, looking around.

 

Clarus pushed passed him, “Are you both alright?”

 

The king turned his head toward the door; Reina’s eyes flicked toward them, but otherwise remained focused as she rubbed ointment over the burn on her father’s face.

 

“We are shaken, but otherwise unharmed,” said the king.

 

“Your face—” Clarus objected.

 

“A foolish mistake on my own part.”

 

Reina’s lips twisted in a scowl. If she had just been faster, if she had been better prepared… how could she say she would be his blade when she had done such a poor job of protecting him?

 

“How did it get inside?” Clarus asked.

 

“That is for Cor to tell us,” Reina said, glancing at him. Her tone was quiet, but accusatory. “How it got in Insomnia, let alone in the Citadel and closed in Father’s room.”

 

“Reina.” There was a warning in her father’s tone as he looked at her. She fell silent, dropping her gaze. “You must excuse my daughter; she simply fears for my safety.”

 

She didn’t object to being spoken of in such a manner or apologized for; she didn’t say that she was annoyed that no one seemed to be able to do their  _ damn jobs  _ anymore. Somehow he knew what she felt better than she did. She  _ was  _ afraid. And in that she lashed out in anger. It was unbefitting of her but it didn’t change the fact that she was still angry.

 

“I think we can all understand that,” Clarus said.

 

“She speaks some truth, though,” Cor spoke for the second time since his arrival. “It should never have happened. That it did means someone has failed in their duty; it  _ is  _ my responsibility to see this through.”

 

“Then see it done,” said the king. Cor gave a short bow and turned, but before he could leave the king spoke again. 

 

“There is one more thing you both need be aware of... “ He paused, his hand closing over Reina’s knee, as if to steady himself for the admission to come. “I can no longer summon weapons.”

 

Their reactions were not dissimilar to Reina’s. Indeed, Clarus’ expression was much the same as hers had been. Cor’s was more subtle, but the surprise was still clear. 

 

“Due to the ring..?” Clarus ventured.

 

“So it would seem.”

 

There was a stunned and thoughtful silence. 

 

“Perhaps, given the circumstances, I should remain here for the night,” said Clarus. “As Cor has an investigation to see to.”

 

“There is no need,” said the king, holding up his hand. “Search my rooms, if you must, but I do doubt another attempt will be made tonight. You should, however, replace the guards outside… Reina has chased off the others.”

 

He glanced toward Reina at the last; she was pleased to hear the teasing note to his voice, in spite of everything, but she didn’t smile. And she didn’t regret dismissing the guards.

 

As the king said, so it was done. Cor excused himself to begin his investigation; Clarus performed a thorough search of the rooms before leaving them in the hands of a small group of the Crownsguard, and, after some exasperated discussion, the king agreed that the outer door would remain open and the guards would remain outside. Reina, on the other hand, had no intention of leaving her father’s side. 

 

Once she was finished with it, the burn on her father’s face had faded to a pale pink scar. She took some pride in that, even if it was overshadowed by her guilt at having let it happen in the first place. 

 

It was nearly midnight when the king finally ate his dinner. Reina sat by, homework long since forgotten, trying her absolute hardest not to fuss. When he was finished, having gone through the whole meal without complaining about what was undoubtedly lukewarm soup, she walked him to bed and sat on the edge. She kept hold of one of his hands, afraid to let go.

 

“Reina, my dear,” he gave her fingers a squeeze, “I am  _ fine _ —and due, in no small part, to you.”

 

“Yes, Father…” Reina sighed; she didn’t sound convinced even to herself.

 

“Do you intend to stay the night?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He paused, then: “Do you intend to stay  _ up  _ all night?”

 

“I have an essay to finish—but I’ll be close by, so if you need anything—”

 

“I know,” he squeezed her hands again. “Goodnight, my dear. Do try to get some sleep.”

 

“I will, Father.” She didn’t often lie to him, but that was almost certainly one. 

 

She turned the lights off for him before retreating to the next room, where her half finished essay and textbook sat. Outside in the hall were two new guards. They nodded to her in greeting as she gathered up her work and slipped silently back into the king’s bedroom. If she sat with her back to the big window, she would just be able to see enough to write by the city light, once her eyes adjusted. She certainly wasn’t going to sit in the other room, where she couldn’t be certain of her father’s safety. So she settled in on the floor for a long night.

 

It wasn’t as long as she expected.

 

But, near dawn, when she woke amidst a pile of papers, the ache in her back was threatening to make it a  _ very  _ long day.

 

The king was still asleep, safe and sound. Her essay was still unfinished and she was in no mood to fix that. Still, it was due in a matter of hours and she had never turned in an incomplete assignment. She settled for writing a hasty conclusion before bundling everything together and hoping her teacher didn’t care that it was more than a little wrinkled. Given the night she’d had, Reina was convinced she should get full credit no matter how atrocious the writing was. Battling a Magitek soldier in defense of Lucis’ king had to count for some sort of extra credit.

 

It was past six when she rose, stretching stiff muscles, and returned her textbook to the coffee table outside. The guards were still standing outside of the open door, but Reina was feeling disinclined to leave her father alone all the same. That did leave her in something of a predicament, considering that she was supposed to be leaving for school in less than an hour and she undoubtedly needed a shower and a comb. 

 

For a few moments she leaned in the doorway to her father’s room, watching him slumber. He looked years younger when he was asleep. And when the new scar on his face wasn’t visible. 

 

At length she made up her mind. She sent down to the kitchens that breakfast be brought to them; when it arrived she sent the servant to her room for her school uniform. 

 

The king woke to breakfast on his bedside table and his daughter more or less where she had been the last time he had seen her. 

 

“Good morning, Father. Did you sleep alright?”

 

“Mmm… well enough. Did you sleep at all?”

 

“Yes,” said Reina. That wasn’t a lie, at least; she might have omitted the part where she had slept—unintentionally—sitting on the floor, but she  _ did  _ answer the question truthfully. “There’s breakfast for you.”

 

“Thank you, my dear.”

 

“I’m going to use your shower,” Reina said, leaning forward to kiss his forehead before standing. 

 

“Very well.” The king pushed himself upright and turned his eyes to the breakfast tray sitting beside him. He didn’t ask her why she wasn’t walking the ten feet down the hall to use her own shower. Perhaps he already knew the answer. Whatever his reasons were, Reina was glad; she didn’t want to try to explain herself.

 

She showered in record time, pulling on her school uniform and squeezing water from her black hair. She ran a comb through it and stared at herself in the mirror for a moment. Her hair was going to look terrible all day, but at least she was clean. There was no time left to do anything about her appearance. When she emerged, the tall clock in her father’s room was ringing seven. 

 

Reina groaned. “I’ve got to run, Father—I’ll see you this afternoon.”

 

As much as she hated to leave, she couldn’t think of a good excuse not to go to school. And he was never going to let her stay without one. 

 

“No time for breakfast?” The king was sitting upright in his bed with the tray of food across his lap. Reina gave him a brief but regretful smile.

 

“Afraid not.” She crossed to give him a kiss goodbye and, in spite of her words, to steal a piece of toast.

 

“I buttered that for myself, you know,” he called after her.

 

“Fank you!” She spoke around the toast that she held in her mouth.

 

“Manners, child!”

 

Reina took the toast out of her mouth and grinned at him over her shoulder. “Sorry, Father.”

 

He smiled. “Have a lovely day, my dear.”


	21. Guilt

######  _ Spring, 753: _

_ (Three years before) _

 

The day that followed the MT encounter was one of the busiest of Reina’s life to date. And one of the most anxious. She spent all day at school, wishing she was free to return home, without absorbing a single word any of her teachers said, but when she did finally return home she only allowed herself a brief pause to check that her father was well—he was—before she met Gladio for supplemental training. 

 

Usually it was Gladio goading her; today it was her who insisted on continuing after every misstep. Her body ached and she was certain that if she had stopped for a moment then she would have fallen on her face. Sweat stained her school uniform, which she hadn’t bothered to stop and change out of; at every pause her lungs screamed for a break. 

 

“One more time.”

 

“Reina—”

 

“ _ One more time! _ ”

 

It was that last block in the series. Her arms felt like cooked noodles and she couldn’t get her damn practice staff up in time.

 

Gladio looked at her, appraising, for a moment, then struck without warning. Block, counter, strike, block. Her arms went numb from the repeated impact of sword against staff. This time she turned too slow and took Gladio’s boot to her back; one more bruise to add to her steadily growing collection. She hit the ground and growled in frustration. 

 

“Reina.”

 

“Once more,” she breathed, voice hoarse, as she pushed herself up onto shaky limbs.

 

“ _ Reina. _ ” Gladio didn’t help her up, but he didn’t lift his blade again, either. “I heard what happened last night.”

 

Reina wiped her forehead on her sleeve, looking up at him as her lungs desperately tried to make up for the lost time. Of course he had heard. He was Clarus’ son. 

 

“Then you know why I can’t stop.” Reina pushed wet bangs from her face. “Let’s go again.”

 

“But you killed it. Dad said you took it out yourself.”

 

“No,” she shook her head. “Father hit it with lightning, first—and himself in the process. If I hadn’t been frozen—if I had just  _ moved faster _ ….”

 

She rubbed her face with her free hand, pinching the bridge of her nose. Gladio was a shield; he would understand that failure wasn’t an option. She dropped her hand and met his gaze. “As it was, my father was inches from death; if I had been  _ any  _ slower…”

 

Gladio’s mouth tightened. He didn’t tell her it was fine, that she had been there when it mattered and that was the end of things. He didn’t tell her that next time she wouldn’t freeze. He just nodded.

 

“I get it.”

 

“Then you’ll help?”

 

“Yeah. But not like this. You’re not going to learn anything but sloppy technique when you’re exhausted.” He held out his hand for her practice staff. Grudgingly, she gave it to him. 

 

“Take a break. See ya tomorrow.” 

 

Gladio ushered her out of the training room. The rational part of Reina’s mind was relieved; the rest of her was annoyed. Logically she knew she wouldn’t be able to make improvements all in one session. It took time and dedication. But that fact only made her more frustrated and impatient. All the same, she dutifully trekked back to her room in the Citadel, stripped off her soaked uniform, and took a hot shower. 

 

It was difficult just to lift her arms to wash her hair; all of her muscles had turned into butter and melted in the heat of the shower. Somehow she managed to get clean and dressed, anyway. A glance at the time displayed on her phone drew a swear from her. She was late for dinner.

 

Try as she might, Reina couldn’t make her body hurry up. It was hard enough just walking. By the time she reached the dining hall, the king was already waiting for her. 

 

He half rose from his seat as she swept in as quickly as her watery legs would take her.

 

“Reina—“

 

“Sorry, Father. Lost track of time,” she mumbled, dropping into her wonderfully solid chair.

 

Her father lowered back into his seat but didn’t return to his dinner. He continued to study her.

 

“Are you quite alright, my dear?”

 

“Of course, Father,” Reina hazarded a smile as she picked up her fork.

 

“You really must work on the conviction of your lies.” The king rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers, looking down his nose at her appraisingly.

 

Reina’s smile brightened. “I come by it honestly. I mean it, though; I’m just tired from training with Gladio and I didn’t realize how much time had passed. You know I hate to be tardy.”

 

That was true enough. She, of course, left out the part where she had spent four hours demanding that Gladio keep pushing her because she was guilty about how she had reacted to the MT the night before. She also didn’t mention that she had a pile of homework that she hadn’t touched since coming home. 

 

“I do, yes.” Her father lowered his hands and picked up his fork again, apparently accepting her half-truth. “You needn’t have worried; after the number of times I have failed to appear for dinner, I should think you are allowed one or two delays.”

 

He smiled fondly at her and Reina returned it, cheered by his warmth. If she needed any more justification for her fevered training, there it was. 

 

“Did I miss anything important, today?” She changed the subject to a safer one, wanting to avoid any further sympathy.

 

The remainder of the meal was passed in comfortable conversation; he filled her in on the events of note from his day and the goings-on in the Citadel and beyond. The evening after was thankfully free of any council meetings—Reina wasn’t certain she could have remained awake—but there was still the homework awaiting her attention. She elected to pick up her bookbag and follow the king to his rooms, rather than retiring to her own. If he thought it was odd, he made no comment. Either he appreciated the company or he guessed that she was still feeling wary about leaving him alone. 

 

Security had been increased since the previous night. The crownsguards stood outside the king’s door at all times, now, and asked the pair of them to wait in the hall while they performed a sweep of his rooms—amidst protests from the king. Reina didn’t mind. Better to be slightly inconvenienced than find another unpleasant surprise, though she agreed that there was unlikely to be another attempt so soon.

 

Once they were allowed inside, they settled in for the evening. Reina spread her books out across the unoccupied half of the king’s bed and lay on her stomach amidst them, trying to get her tired eyes to focus. Her father remained awake for some time longer with his nose buried in a bundle of reports. Reina had just managed to get through her mathematics assignment when he set his papers aside and sank into his pillows.

 

“Reina.”

 

She pulled her eyes away from the text before her to look up at him. “Yes, Father?”   
  


“Don’t stay up too late, my dear.” He reached out a hand to her and she caught it. 

 

She smiled at him, scooting up to give him a kiss. “I won’t. Goodnight.”

 

In fact she didn’t, whatever plans she might have had. The last thing she remembered before drifting off was opening her history book; the following morning she didn’t remember whether or not she had read any of it. 

 

When she did wake it was just past dawn. Someone—there was only one real possibility—had pulled the blankets over her while she slept, but he hadn’t tried to replace the book under her head with a pillow. Whenever it had happened, he must have gone back to sleep after, as he slept still when Reina woke. 

 

She pushed herself up on her elbows, biting back a groan. Everything  _ hurt _ .  _ Everything _ . There were muscles aching in spots she hadn’t even known she had muscles. Every tiny motion highlighted another stiff body part. She resisted the urge to cry out—it wouldn’t do to wake her father—and slipped out of bed as quietly as she could, slowly stretching her protesting muscles.

 

It was a poor start to a long day.

 

Aside from the persistent pain at even the slightest motion, it went more or less as the day before had. She grew anxious and tense nearly as soon as she was out of the Citadel. While it was possible to forget about her concern for the king when she sat beside him and found him in good spirits, it was hard to keep her mind from wandering while they were apart. 

 

It was with great relief that she reached the end of the school day. She left without delay, ducking into the car sent for her and returning to the Citadel. 

 

She found her father in his study, leaning over a stack of papers with his forehead braced on his hand. He looked up as she entered; the look on his face didn’t exactly quell the worries that had been growing all day. Seven hours of her absence, seven hours of work and stress and the weight of the world had worn away at the king since she had last seen him.

 

“Reina…” he sighed, sitting back in his chair and shutting his eyes.

 

“Father?” Reina urged her sore body forward, reaching his side and touching his shoulder lightly.

 

In the pause that followed her mind leapt from thought to thought a dozen times over. Was he tired, already? Could she convince him to take a break and return to his room for rest? If so, would she need to remain at his side? If  _ not _ , how could she  _ not  _ remain at his side? And if she was with him, how could she persist in her weapons training?

 

Eventually he did open his eyes and look up at her. He gave her a feeble smile, catching her hand loosely. “Merely a headache.”

 

Reina made a face; it wasn’t uncommon for the metaphorical headache of the king’s life to turn into a physical one, but it wasn’t much more comforting than hearing him say he was worn down. There was little she could do for a headache.

 

“Do you want me to get you something for it?” 

 

“I think that might be wise.” His head rested against the back of his chair like it was too heavy to hold up. His eyes drifted shut again.

 

Reina pressed his hand. “Be back, soon.”

 

It would have been possible to enchant something with painkilling properties. But, given that such things were readily available, she elected not to. She returned to the king’s study a few minutes later with a bottle of painkillers and a tall glass of water.

 

“Did you have lunch? Did you get a break, today?” Reina asked, knowing she was fussing and failing to stop herself. She hovered while her father swallowed two of the pills.

 

“Yes and no. You know full well I cannot afford to waste time.”

 

Reina scowled—not at him, precisely, but at the situation. “Your health isn’t a waste.”

 

“Reina,” he sighed, a warning note in his tired voice.

 

She dropped her gaze, ashamed that she could let herself contribute to his troubles. “I’m sorry, Father.”

 

“There is nothing further you can do for me, at the moment. I know there are more pressing matters that call for your attention.”

 

It was a plain dismissal, so Reina went. She didn’t want to, but she wasn’t going to argue with him; still, she went with a newly stoked frustration at her own uselessness. There should have been something she could do to ease his burden.

 

The only thing she could do was throw herself back into training with Gladio. Her body protested every second of it. It wasn’t easier than the day before, as might have been expected if she was making improvements. Instead it was harder. Harder to lift her practice staff. Harder to move. Harder to think, like her brain had gone numb.

 

Every day seemed to be like that. Every day she pushed herself until there was nothing left to give. At night she fell asleep at her desk or in her father’s rooms, trying to finish her homework. Each morning she felt as if she had been hit by a truck. But she hated every minute that she had to put into training; every hour she spent building muscles, practicing patterns, or repeating drills was another hour she wasn’t at her father’s side, in addition to the time spent at school.

 

For the first time in her life her grades were suffering; she sacrificed study-time for training with Gladio or for sitting in on the king’s meetings to ensure they ended in a timely manner. The work piled up and there wasn't even any pay-off. She wasn’t getting any stronger. She wasn’t getting any better or faster. She still couldn’t protect her father from anything. She couldn’t even cure his headaches.

 

That evening she practiced without Gladio. He couldn’t commit as much time to practice as she wanted to; he had his own responsibilities and she didn’t begrudge him that. It meant time practicing on her own, time forcing her exhausted, aching muscles to make the same patterns over and over again, watching her form in the mirror and correcting, squaring until everything was perfect, then doing the whole thing again.

 

It did nothing for her humor. She was days behind on homework assignments when she had never been late before. She  _ tried  _ to keep up, but there was always something else. There was her father sleeping late and waking with a persistent headache. There were long council meetings and her responsibility to see that they ended when the king was tired. There was sitting in court with him and trying to make her tired mind focus.

 

She channeled that frustration into practice drills. She poured it out until her arms turned to water and tears of anger and shame ran down her cheeks, mingling with the sweat on her face.

 

“Reina.”

 

She jumped, swivelling with her staff held in the defensive position, as if she expected to find a foe there.

 

It was Gladio. 

 

She lowered the staff and ducked her head, trying to halt the flow of tears. Her eyes shut as she hoped for a miracle. The last thing she needed was for Gladiolus to see her crying like a little girl. It didn’t do any good. She ground her teeth together, frustrated and ashamed as the tears fell thicker. 

 

_ I am better than this, damn it! _ Reina chastised herself silently. She spent so much time trying to be the Princess—trying to be everything that a princess ought to be: calm and composed, diplomatic and commanding, elegant and educated. No matter how hard she tried she never measured up; this was just more evidence of her many failures.

 

Gladio stepped closer until she could see his feet when she opened her eyes. She felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder and distantly registered some surprise; usually the only time he ever touched her was in the context of training. 

 

“Hey.” Gladio’s voice broke through the haze of tears that blurred her vision, but she didn’t look up. “You can’t do everything.”

 

“I can’t do anything.” The words slipped out before she could stop them, her voice just a whisper. First she was crying in front of him, now she was pouring out all her self-pity on him?

 

“You know that’s not true and it’s not gonna do anyone any good to believe it.” 

 

Reina shook her head, still staring at her feet, watching her tears hit the wood floor. 

 

He tucked a finger under her chin, giving her little choice but to look at him unless she wanted to pull away entirely. She looked up. Gladio was taller than Noct, taller than the king. Her eye level was chest height for him, but he was looking down at her, partially bent to put his face closer to his. 

 

“I get it. You had a close call; you’re afraid the next time you’ll fail outright. But you’re gonna fix it, aren’t you?” His hand slipped away from her chin, resting on her shoulder instead.

 

“I’m trying…”

 

“Well that’s all you can do. No one wants to see anything happen to the king. My Dad’s been with him more often, too; Cor’s tightened security. It’s not your responsibility to protect him all the time; you’ve got other things to worry about.”

 

Reina’s head tipped forward until her forehead touched his chest. 

 

“There’s too much for me to do. I can’t keep up.” She knew she was whining and she shouldn’t have been. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself. Since when was Gladio so damn easy to talk to?

 

“Nah. I don’t believe that. You’ll get the hang of things, again; you learn quick.”

 

She lifted her head again to look at him. He really believed it. He really believed in  _ her _ . She managed a watery smile, which he returned. His fingers brushed over her cheeks, wiping away tears. It seemed an oddly familiar gesture for someone who was more her brother’s friend than hers, but she didn’t dwell on it in the moment.

 

“You always do fine,” he added.

 

Her face was about as dry as it was likely to get, but his fingers lingered, his thumb hooking beneath her chin and angling her face upward. A small, faraway part of her mind knew what was coming before it happened; the rest of her brain had stopped working. She watched, motionless but not tense, as his face grew closer to hers. Later she would wonder at it, but when his lips touched hers she didn’t feel any surprise. 

 

She kissed him back, exhaling sharply as if suddenly relieved of a great burden. There was a clatter of wood on wood as her staff hit the floor. Her hands pressed against his chest, his against the small of her back, holding her closer. He was practically three times her size, but that only seemed to suggest safety to her, at that moment. His mouth was hot and every place his hands touched burned like the sting of a warm room after standing out in the snow. 

 

When he drew back to look at her, Reina nearly forgot to open her eyes. Her whole body was filled with tingling numbness, her worries from before momentarily forgotten. He searched her face like he was trying to discern how she felt about what he had done. 

 

Reina leaned against him, taking solace in the support. Usually the only person she accepted that from was her brother—especially where her father’s well-being was concerned—but Noctis had always been better at listening than talking, and he  _ certainly  _ didn’t hold her against his chest like that.

 

Whatever he had been looking for, Gladio evidently found it; he kissed her once more, sliding one hand around the back of her head—it was less tender and more hungry, but Reina didn’t object. She matched it. 

 

The roughness of his callused palm brushed against her back as his hand slid beneath her shirt. Her only reaction was encouragement as she pressed against him, laying her hands flat against his chest. He persisted, moving his hand over her waist and up her side, letting her shirt bunch around his wrist.

 

All at once Reina’s brain started working again.

 

They were inches from a path that Reina had never walked before. She could have done it. In fact, a part of her  _ wanted  _ to do it. But her mind settled instead on the reason she was there in the first place—the reason she was training three hours after dinner and the reason she had been so upset that she had ended up in Gladiolus’ arms.

 

_ Father _ .

 

Reina inhaled sharply and broke away. She caught his wrist and drew his hand away from her, taking a step back. There was a look of stunned surprise on Gladio’s face.

 

“I can’t—I can’t do this. I have to go.” She turned heel and fled without explanation, not turning even when he called after her. 

 

Her feet took her to the one place she wanted to be. The place she  _ always  _ wanted to be. 

 

The king was tucked in bed, but not yet asleep. The light beside his bed cast the room in a warm glow. When she entered he looked up, but his smile faded to concern when he saw the look on her face. She was only barely holding back the tears that had been threatening to fall all the way across the Citadel.

 

“What is it?” He sat up, pushing blankets back. 

 

Reina bit her lip. Her vision blurred as the tears gathered in force, just at the thought of answering his question. What was she going to tell him? What  _ could  _ she tell him?

 

A tear escaped her hold and ran down her cheek. She shook her head and turned away, rubbing her face as she disappeared into the open arch that led to the bathroom. 

 

“Reina—!”

 

She didn’t stop. He would worry, but she couldn’t help that, now. As much as she wanted to curl up in bed with him, she knew she was a mess: still wearing her practice clothes, covered in sweat and tears with more feelings than she could sort through. So instead she ran the shower until the glass fogged and stripped off her sodden clothes.

 

The water didn’t wash away her guilt. It was twofold; once because she had kissed Gladio back—she had let him believe, if only for a moment, that something might happen between them—and once because she had actually thought about it. How could she think about dedicating time to anything so frivolous when her schedule was already so full? Her father needed her. Gladio didn’t. Even if he had, the king would always come first in her life. She couldn’t afford to do the things that normal teenage girls did.

 

Reina turned and let the hot water pour over her hair, pushing water from her face and opening her eyes. There was a ledge outside the shower and the king sat there with his back to her. He had followed, worried, like she had known he would be. She felt some guilt at that, too, but mostly it was overshadowed by love and gratitude. No matter what happened in either of their lives, he was still there when she needed him, still concerned enough that while he waited for her to tell him what was wrong, he elected to sit closer to her rather than wait outside.

 

She shut the water off and wrapped in a clean white towel. When she moved toward him, her father held out a shirt to her, still looking pointedly away. Reina took the offered clothing; it was one of the long-sleeved white shirts that he usually slept in. Smiling to herself, she pulled it on over her head. The sleeves fell to her fingertips and the hem hit her thighs. It made her feel like a little girl again—like she could curl up in her father’s lap and have all of her nightmares chased away.

 

She took a step forward and he looked up at her for the first time. 

 

“Will you tell me what distresses you so, now?” He rose, supported by his cane. Somehow it looked more out of place when he was dressed in loose sleepwear.

 

Reina didn’t respond—not immediately. She clung to his free arm and walked back into the bedroom with him. He ushered her into his bed, then climbed in after her, letting her settle against his chest and wrapping his arms around her.

 

For a few moments they were quiet. He didn’t press, but simply waited. Eventually his patience paid off.

 

“Gladiolus… kissed me.” Reina’s voice was small. She knew it didn’t explain much, but it was where everything started; her father couldn’t hear both of her worries, but she could tell him the one.

 

The silence that followed was enough to make Reina lift her head to look at her father. There was a peculiar expression on his face, like he was trying to decide whether to be angry or pleased.

 

Finally he decided that her opinion on the matter was more important than his own: “And you would prefer he had not?”

 

“I guess—but not like that.” It would certainly have made things more simple if he had never kissed her. But her father wasn’t asking that. He was asking whether or not he should be angry with Gladio.

 

She shifted onto her stomach, folding her arms across his chest and resting her chin on them so she could look up at him. “I kissed him back. He wanted to go further; he put his hand under my shirt and—“

 

“He  _ put his hand beneath your shirt?!”  _ Her father half sat up, nearly displacing her. The anger had clearly won over at that tidbit. Reina might have been amused if she hadn’t felt so poorly about the situation.

 

“Father, it’s alright!” Reina hastened, wrapping her arms around his neck and urging him back against the pillows. “He didn’t—touch me—I stopped him.”

 

“As well you should,” the king growled, holding her a little more tightly. “But that does not change the fact that he made an attempt.”

 

Reina buried her face against his neck; when she spoke her voice was muffled. “Don’t be cross with him, Father, please. He didn’t do anything wrong; I didn’t give any indication that he shouldn’t, before. I suppose… that I liked it.”

 

“Gladiolus had no right to take such liberties with my daughter,” he persisted.

 

She smiled in spite of herself, hugging him a little tighter before drawing back so she could see his face. There was anger and indignation mixed together in his expression. It was a little bit sweet that he was so invested. If she had any plans to ever carry on any sort of romantic relationship, it might have been exasperating. But she had no time for that sort of thing. She attracted enough attention at school, and she had indulged in her fair share of crushes, but that was as far as things went. 

 

“Please don’t get him in trouble. I feel guilty enough as it is; I shouldn’t have let him believe anything could happen.”

 

He met her level gaze, looking rebellious for a moment. Then he sighed; the anger drained away.

 

“Very well.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“I do not want you to believe that I will never welcome news of a young man in your life—I should be happy to see  _ you _ happy when such a time comes. But that ought not begin like this. I desire only to protect you from harm.”

 

“I know, Father,” Reina said. She didn’t tell him that she had no intention of ever having a young man in her life.

 

The next time she saw Gladiolus he was exceedingly careful. Neither of them brought up what had happened and eventually it seemed understood that it was never going to be repeated. Or at least, Reina told herself he understood.


	22. Unwelcome Concern

######  _ 3 June, 756: _

_ (Seventeen days after) _

 

Under normal circumstances, dawn would have been an odd time to make camp and share a celebratory meal—which no one would remember, later, due to sheer exhaustion. But normal circumstances didn’t account for storming an imperial base, initially with the intent to sneak in and retrieve a car, and instead summoning a god to obliterate every last Magitek soldier around. But that was just what had happened.

 

Later, Noctis would wonder if it had all been some sort of elaborate dream. In fact, as bone-deep weariness settled in, he was already beginning to wonder. He didn’t even taste the dinner that Ignis made. He might have eaten  _ vegetables  _ and not noticed, because by the time his plate was empty he couldn’t rightly recall what had been on it in the first place.

 

Across the fire from him sat Reina, curled in her chair like a cat as she stared at her phone with unseeing eyes. It was a common look for her, recently. She still didn’t seem to sleep much and often had to be coaxed to eat. She still checked her phone compulsively, like she was expecting their father to call. Two and a half weeks had passed since his death; it dragged on both of them every day, but it had taken something deeper from Reina. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what she was feeling.

 

The previous night, as with so many encounters before, Reina’s head had clearly not been in the fight. He couldn’t really blame her, but knowing that she  _ could  _ do it—having seen how she operated when she was focused in combat—just made it more painful to watch. 

 

“Time for bed, I think,” Ignis announced, standing and stretching.

 

“Yeah…” Noctis said, looking at his feet and wondering if they were going to take him to bed or if he was going to have to do it himself. 

 

Reina stood, stirring as if from a trance, stacking her plate with the others and walking away from the camp without so much as a word or a glance at anyone else. Noctis turned in his chair to watch her as she let herself into the Regalia and dropped into the back seat. He was tempted to join her—it was a comfort to have their father’s car back at last—but it was so much farther away than the tent. And so, when he did finally convince his exhausted legs to stand, it was toward the tent that he moved.

 

Gladio stopped him halfway.

 

“Noct.” He caught Noctis by the arm and gave him a meaningful look. The sort of look that meant Noctis wasn’t going to get to sleep, yet. Noct groaned.

 

“Can’t it wait?”

 

“No, it  _ can’t _ ,” Gladio scowled. “You’ve got to talk to your sister.”

 

Noctis pulled his arm free and ran his fingers through his hair. “About what?”

 

He talked to Reina a lot—as much as was possible, with how she was these days—what, in particular, did Gladio think needed mentioning?

 

“About getting her head back in the right spot, because right now, with how she’s fighting, she’s going to get herself killed.”

 

A dark little thought popped into Noctis’ head. He didn’t voice it, but he wondered if that wasn’t what she wanted. He wasn’t going to let it happen, of course, but he couldn’t forget the way she walked toward the edge when Cor had told them the king was dead. She could have done it. She  _ would  _ have, if he hadn’t stopped her.

 

Sure, her mind wasn’t on the fight; it was killing Noct to watch it, too. But what did Gladio hope talking to her would do? Exactly what was he supposed to say? ‘Hey, I know Dad’s dead and you’re questioning your reasons to go on living, but maybe you ought to try living a little harder, because Gladio is worried about you’? If he was worried—and Noct was guessing he was, considering what Gladio thought of Reina—then he could do something about it himself.

 

“Well that’s your job, isn’t it?” Noctis bristled. He glanced over his shoulder; Prompto and Ignis were standing by, listening. Had they all discussed this before springing it on him? “You’re crownsguards—hell, you’re about the only crownsguards left—you’re supposed to be protecting the royal family. So stop complaining and  _ do it _ .”

 

Gladio growled and made a swipe like he was going to grab the front of Noctis’ shirt; Noct took a quick step backward to avoid it.

 

“Maybe that would be fine if we weren’t all fighting for our lives out here, or even if she was some pampered princess—but we are and she isn’t. She needs to focus. You know she’s better than this,” Gladio said.

 

So that  _ was  _ it. If he didn’t think anything of her he wouldn’t think anything of protecting her.

 

“Yeah? And what am I supposed to tell her? ‘Chin up, Rei, Dad’s dead but  _ get over it _ .’?”

 

“Well she’s got to, doesn’t she?” said Gladio, “My Dad was in Insomnia, too. And… I never thought I’d say this, but  _ you’re  _ getting along alright. There’s no reason why she can’t, too.  _ She  _ needs to focus on doing  _ her _ job.”

 

It had been a long time since Noctis wanted so badly to hit Gladio. The last time he had been holding a wooden practice sword and he couldn’t have done it if he had tried—and he  _ had  _ tried. This time he refrained. 

 

“Oh yeah? And what job would that be? You don’t get it at all, do you? You’re looking straight at the problem and think it’s not a problem for her because it isn’t for you. You have no idea what she’s going through.” Noctis shook his head and turned around. The Regalia didn’t look so far away, anymore. 

 

“Noctis.” This time it was Ignis who called him back. Noct halted and turned once more, arms folded over his chest.

 

“We are simply concerned for the princess’ safety,” Ignis said.

 

So they  _ had _ discussed it together.

 

“What, and you think I’m not? If you want her safe then keep her safe. That’s your job before anything else, now.”

 

“If we knew how to help, this would be easier,” Ignis reasoned, logical as ever.

 

“She doesn’t have to justify herself to you and neither do I.” Noct shook his head and turned once more. This time no one stopped him or called after him. 

 

He dropped down the slope and landed near the Regalia. Reina was laying curled up in the back seat, but her eyes were open—not looking at anything, just  _ open _ . Noctis slipped inside and fit himself into the scant space behind her. They were both silent for a while; for some reason Noctis didn’t feel so tired, anymore.

 

He didn’t need to ask her what was wrong with her, as Gladio was so obviously wondering. He already knew.

 

Reina didn’t speak, but she turned toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face against his collarbone. He wrapped his arms around her and shut his eyes. If nothing else, at least they had the Regalia back. That wasn’t as good as having their father back, but if he closed his eyes and wished, it was almost possible to imagine that the shelter of the car was the safety of the king’s embrace.

 

“You ever feel like he’s still here?” Noctis murmured, not opening his eyes. “When we’re sitting in the Regalia? Like we didn’t leave him in Insomnia, because a part of him came along with us.”

 

“It’s the only way I can sleep,” Reina breathed, her voice far away.   
  


“And when it’s just us back here like this, the three of us are back together again. Like when we were little and used to crawl into bed with him.”

 

“...or eat Cup Noodles at your apartment.”

 

Noctis smiled, fixing on the good instead of the bad; it was the best way to combat the hurt. Better than avoiding it. “Remember that look he used to get on his face when we picked at each other? Exasperated but... resigned.”

 

Against his neck, Reina gave a tearful laugh that was half-sob. “I think we could have done anything to each other—said anything—and he would have still looked like that. Like… ‘what have I done to deserve this?’”

 

“He was so strict sometimes, but if I tied knots in your hair he just accepted it,” Noct laughed, “Probably because there was nothing he could have done to stop it.”

 

“He just knew I would get even, sooner or later.”

 

“I bet he thought it was funny. You and I, constantly picking fights but never really being sincere about it… He loved us that much.”

 

“Loved to watch us do any stupid thing,” Reina’s voice was quiet again. 

 

Noctis hugged her a little tighter. “He still does. He’s smiling, laying here with us. But you know he’ll tell us to shut up and go to sleep if you keep talking.”

 

Reina let out a breath. “You’re probably right.... Goodnight Noct.”

 

“Goodnight, Rei,” Noctis said, in spite of the fact that it was  _ definitely  _ morning.

 

“Goodnight, Father,” she murmured, reaching out to press one hand flat against the seat on Noctis’ other side.

 

“Night, Dad,” Noct agreed. 


	23. High Treason

######  _ 3 June, 756: _

_ (Seventeen days after) _

 

Once, it would have seemed absurd to crave the dreams that took her out of mind and body to witness something that had yet to pass—or something that had already occurred, far away—but these days dreams were the only refuge she had. Not the dreams that plagued her, night after night, whenever she laid down in the tent or in a dark, quiet caravan. Those were dreams of blackness and blood; pointless, terrifying dreams that were built from her imagination into nightmares. They kept her awake all night and the only thing that could chase them away was the soft embrace of the Regalia.

 

No, the dreams she wanted were the waking kind. Vivid memories of the past that she could draw up from her mind and sink into as if she was still there—as if  _ he  _ was still there. Dreams that would let her forget, just for a little while, that there was no light left in the world.

 

So as she lay there, in her father’s car with her head against her brother’s chest, it was one of those dreams that she wrapped up in, thinking back to days when the three of them had sat together, letting the warmth of their family drive away worries for the future.

 

######  _ Fall, 752: _

_ (Four years before) _

 

Smuggling the king out of the Citadel unnoticed was simply not possible. They would just have to be noticed and do things by the book. Or as close to the book as was possible, given that what Reina wanted to do was without precedent. This required some outside help.

 

Clarus laughed when she told him. Not in a way that suggested he thought she must have been insane—though there was a heavy sprinkling of surprise—but he did genuinely seem to find the idea amusing. He agreed to help. 

 

Cor  _ did  _ look at her like he thought she was mad. It was hidden underneath a mile of steel and stone, but there was a flicker of it in his eyes for just an instant—a twitch of his brows coming together as he wondered if the princess, and, indeed, Clarus as well, had both gone completely nuts. He would have dismissed it as folly if Clarus hadn’t been there. In the end he grudgingly agreed. 

 

“I just need you to have the car—and whatever additional guard you think is necessary—ready when we come out,” Reina said. It wasn’t as if she was asking him to commit treason. Technically.

 

“There is no cause to worry about  _ my  _ position, Your Highness. It is the king you should be concerned with,” said Cor.

 

He was right, of course. Actually getting the king in the car was definitely the trickiest part of the plan. But Reina had a suspicion that, with the right amount of cajoling and the  _ perfect  _ schedule, he wouldn’t say no. The scheduling part of that was a nightmare. But eventually, one Friday evening, she found the gap.

 

The king’s finance meeting concluded before dinner. There was no council meeting that evening and Reina carefully inserted her plans into the open section of time, ensuring that nothing else  _ would  _ be scheduled. It only remained to convince her father to put down his work unfinished and go with her without any explanation, but if she couldn’t puppy-dog-eyes her way through that difficulty then she surely wasn’t living up to her potential as a daughter.

 

Friday morning came and went; Reina traded texts with Noctis endlessly—mostly it was her confirming that everything was prepared over and over while Noct responded with a predictable ‘yeah’, or, later in the day, when he was growing exasperated with her: ‘y’. By the afternoon he had given up responding altogether. She spotted him as they were leaving school and gave him an over enthusiastic wave. He responded with a lopsided grin.

 

She didn’t get much homework done that afternoon. She was restless and antsy, squirming in her chair, kicking her feet, tapping her pen, and looking out the window while she counted hours. When it was nearly time for the king’s meeting to conclude she gave up altogether—it was Friday, after all, there would be time over the weekend—and went to meet him. She reached his study as the others were filing out and she slipped into the space they left behind.

 

“Father,” Reina greeted him with a bow—curtsies were ever so awkward without a skirt on—and a smile, trying not to look unnecessarily eager, lest she give herself away.

 

“Hello, my dear.” He smiled. He looked tired, but in the sort of way that might be fixed by a break. “Come to ensure I make it to dinner on time?”

 

She had, in a way. Dinner just didn’t include the dining room, tonight. All the same, it was too perfect an opportunity to pass up.

 

“Of course.” She rounded his desk to stand beside him as the king rose. 

 

He offered his arm and she took it. “Far be it from me to delay, then.”

 

They walked together out of his study and down the long, gilded hall. It was more or less deserted, but for servants and crownsguards. But when they reached the split with the path to the dining hall in the opposite direction from the path to the front of the Citadel, Reina calmly lead the way in the latter direction.

 

“Reina.”

 

“Yes, Father?”

 

“This is not the correct direction.” He said it with the sort of logical calm that suggested it was perfectly reasonable that his seventeen year old daughter might have forgotten where the dining room was.

 

“Of course it is, Father.”

 

He shot her a curious look, but didn’t object. This was rather easier than she had expected. When they reached the entrance hall and passed out through the doors to stand on the top of the sweeping staircase that spanned the whole front of the building and led down to the street below, however, he paused. Reina paused, too. Parked on the street below were three black cars: the Regalia flanked by two others, doubtless full of crownsguards. 

 

“What is this, Reina?”

 

Reina smiled enigmatically up at him, holding his arm a little tighter. “You’ll see.”

 

“You know I cannot just flit off as I please for however long I like. There are things I must do tonight, my dear.” He looked regretful, but serious.

 

“There are no more meetings today, and if there isn’t enough time to do what else must be done tonight, then I’ll help you with it myself, tomorrow.” 

 

He looked unconvinced, still. It was time to employ tactic Adorable-Spoiled-Daughter.

 

Reina blinked wide eyes up at him, leaning up to give him a kiss on the cheek and then putting on her best pleading expression. “Please, Father?”

 

The king sighed, his resolve crumbling before her eyes. “To think I foolishly believed you were the obedient one.”

 

“I am the obedient one!”

 

The look on her father’s face said he didn’t believe that for an instant. “Lead on, Imp.”

 

Reina grinned. She took her father down the steps; Cor emerged from the front seat of the Regalia to open the door for them. The king gave him a peculiar look before sliding in. Behind the wheel sat Clarus.

 

“And the pair of you, as well?!” He sounded as if he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or shout. Thankfully he settled on the former as Reina sat down beside him. “This is conspiracy.”

 

“High treason,” Reina agreed. She reached up and unhooked his crown from behind his ear. “Give me that. You don’t get to be king, where we’re going.”

 

“Where  _ are  _ we going?”

 

No one answered. Instead, Clarus said, “All ready, Reina?”

 

“Yes; let’s go.”

 

“ _ Reina _ . Where are we going?”

 

“I told you, Father;  _ you’ll see _ .” Reina knelt on the back seat of the Regalia, facing him. She pulled a long, narrow strip of fabric from her pocket while the king watched her with dubious eyes.

 

“Surely you do not intend to—” 

 

She did.

 

“How am I meant to _see_ where we’re going with a blindfold on?”

 

“Well. You’ll see eventually.” 

 

He made a sound halfway between exasperation and amusement. “This  _ is  _ treason! You cannot kidnap the king!”

 

In spite of his protestations, Reina noted he made no move to remove the blindfold or see where they were actually going. She snuggled up beside him and chatted amicably for the duration of the drive, as if she hadn’t been conspiring to kidnap the king, with the help of the prince and the king’s bodyguards, for weeks.

 

It wasn’t a long drive, but somewhere along the way the king resigned himself to it and seemed resolved to go as he was led. He relaxed into the seat, responding in kind when Reina spoke and only teasing her about treason now and then. 

 

When the car pulled up outside of Noctis’ apartment building, Reina waited for the others to exit first. The two cars that drove in front of and behind them emptied, creating a double line of crownsguards to the entrance. Cor and Clarus got out next; Reina followed, leading her father along.

 

“Now may I see?” 

 

“Soon,” Reina said, holding her father’s right hand in hers while her other hand rested against his back, guiding him.

 

Their progress inside was watched by several curious bystanders. The man at the door and the lift attendant both gave them peculiar looks before bowing and murmuring the proper greetings. They took the elevator up to Noctis’ floor, with Cor and Clarus still flanking them. Reina had the key to her brother’s apartment—he had given it to her as soon as he could procure an extra—so she let them in without knocking. Noctis was standing at the end of the hall; he didn’t say anything, but he grinned when he saw them enter. Only when the door was shut behind them, with Cor and Clarus standing guard outside, did Reina untie the blindfold.

 

“Ah, Noctis!”

 

Noctis’ smile grew, if possible, wider as he moved to give his father the requested hug.

 

“Hey, Dad.”

 

“He didn’t want to come,” Reina said dryly, tucking the blindfold back into her pocket. Just in case. “I nearly had to drug him.”

 

“Well if you had simply  _ told me _ …”

 

“Where’s the fun in that? Geez, Dad,” Reina scoffed in the most unladylike manner. She moved to pass him on her way into the sitting room, but the king caught her.

 

“Reina.” He still had one arm over Noctis’ shoulders when he pulled her into a sideways hug. “ _ Thank you _ . I have no idea what possessed either of you to try to abduct a king, but I can say without doubt that I am blessed by my mischievous children. I love you both.”

 

Reina smiled; not the impish grin she had given before, but bright and warm and full of the unwavering love she held for her family. She threw her arms around his neck and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek.

 

“I love you, too, Father.”

 

Noctis groaned and pulled away, “I didn’t sign up for this mushy stuff.”

 

The king laughed. Reina stuck her tongue out at her brother.

 

“I’m starving; let’s eat,” Noctis said. He led the way into his dining room with conjoined kitchen and sitting space. 

 

“Ignis must have been here,” Reina observed, glancing around. The apartment was spotless. The only time that ever happened was when Ignis came by. 

 

Noctis made a noncommittal sound as he moved into the kitchen. Reina skirted around the empty table and dropped onto the sofa. Their father paused just inside, looking around; what with how busy he was, it was the first time he had been in Noctis’ apartment.

 

“It  _ is  _ nice,” he observed, “Do you miss the Citadel, much?”

 

Noctis scoffed. “No way.”

 

“Except the food,” Reina amended. “And the twenty-four hour maid service.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

The king laughed and folded himself onto the couch beside Reina. In a moment Noct joined them, carrying Cup Noodles. He gave one cup to each of them before dropping onto their father’s other side. Reina peeled back the top and dug in, hardly minding the steaming broth. Cup Noodles might not have been on the same level as the elaborate meals cooked in the Citadel, but there was something unbelievably satisfying about eating instant food while sitting on a couch in socks and a sweater.

 

She didn’t notice that their father was still considering the cup in his hands as if he had never seen anything quite like it until Noctis spoke. 

 

“What’s wrong, old man? Too kingly for Cup Noodles?”

 

“I was merely thinking… it must be twenty-five years since I have eaten this.” 

 

“You need to get out more,” Noctis drawled.

 

The king smiled at his son, “Doubtless, I do.”

 

So they ate soup for dinner while sitting on the couch and completely disregarding all manners that they usually practiced so carefully at home. Noctis’ apartment was the antithesis of the Citadel, Reina had noted. Most nights she just smiled and shook her head at the way he arranged everything to be the complete opposite of his life before that point. But tonight his apartment was a refuge. A little pocket of peace away from the Citadel, out of the public eye, where the royal family could sit without worrying what anyone thought of them, without holding up any sort of standards or needing to be elsewhere. It was peaceful. More than that, it was gratifying watching the king shed his formality and truly  _ relax _ . It was like stepping back in time to the years when he hadn’t been so weighed down by the Wall. Tonight he wasn’t King Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII; tonight he was just  _ Dad _ .

 

When dinner was gone, Noctis switched on the television, shooting a warning glare at Reina.

 

“If she falls asleep, pinch her,” he told their father.

 

Reina was curled up at the king’s side. She stuck her tongue out at her brother—what did it matter to him if she always slept through movies?—and picked up her feet to put them in his lap. 

 

“I will stab you with a fork.” Noctis reached for his empty cup. 

 

“Your love for each other moves me to tears,” the king observed, glancing between them as Noctis made good on his threat.

 

Reina yelped and tucked her feet safely on the other side of her father’s legs. “ _ Father!  _ He stabbed me with a fork!”

 

“So I observed, yes,” he responded, evidently disinclined to do anything about it. 

 

“Told you he loves me more,” said Noctis.

 

“ _ Da-ad!”  _ Reina whined, looking up at the king. 

 

He smiled dotingly at her, smoothing one hand over her hair. “After seventeen years, I would have thought you knew not to listen to your brother.”

 

Reina stuck her tongue out at Noct. He did the same in return.

 

“Noctis, you have made the fatal assumption that I will defend you when your sister invariably retaliates. A foolish move.”

 

Noctis scoffed, “Alright, I lied. He hates us both equally.”

 

Reina grinned. The king smiled and shook his head, lifting his other arm to settle over Noctis’ shoulders. “I love you both equally.”

 

“He’s lying,” Noctis whispered conspiratorially. Reina ignored him.

 

“In spite of our endless bickering?” She asked.

 

“In spite of? No, indeed.  _ Including _ your endless bickering,” The king said. “Now desist, before I knock some sense into the pair of you.  _ Children _ .”

 

######  _ 3 June, 756: _

_ (Seventeen days after) _

 

Separated by four years and hundreds of miles, Reina could still hear her father’s voice. And with her eyes shut she could imagine that the arm around her was her father’s instead of Noctis’. 

 

She slept, wishing, not for the first time, that she could reverse time.


	24. Through the Dark

######  _ 4 June, 756: _

_ (Eighteen days after) _

 

Somehow it never felt crowded in the Regalia at night, even trying to fit the pair of them side by side on the back seat, but when the car was filled with Noctis’ friends, Reina felt claustrophobic. There was the fact that Gladio was about as big as Reina and Noctis put together—maybe bigger. Even so, it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t physical space. Even if no one else had been in the back seat with them, it still would have felt like too much company.

 

“So, Reina…” 

 

She glanced up to find Gladio looking at her. 

 

“I’m sorry about the king, y’know… my father was there, too, and I get it…”

 

Reina’s jaw tightened. He wanted to do this here, crammed in the car? And he honestly thought he had the slightest idea what she was feeling? Clarus had been a good man: something like an uncle to her and Noctis. He had died, she assumed, doing what he was supposed to do—protecting the king. She didn’t blame Clarus or Gladio or anyone but the empire that her father was dead. But she also knew for certain that whatever Gladio was feeling it was nothing to what she battled with every day.

 

As if that wasn’t enough, he continued. “But the world keeps going, and we’ve got to, also.”

 

She didn’t see the glare that her brother was giving Gladio behind her. She dropped her eyes and stared at her closed fists, wondering if hitting him would be uncalled for. The world kept going, did it? Whose world? Not hers.

 

“I know you’ve got some fire in you; you’ve got drive like the king did—“

 

“Shut up.”

 

She didn’t see the way four pairs of eyes flicked toward her in the car. She didn’t see the way Gladio’s face froze, because she was still looking at her clenched hands. How could he be the same person she had kissed in the training hall so many years ago, because he was  _ easy to talk to _ ? He had no idea. He didn’t know the first thing about her. Maybe he had convinced himself he did because of that one kiss, but she wasn’t going to let him continue to labor under that delusion.

 

“ _ Shut the hell up _ .” She looked up at him, her face matching her voice—cold and sharp, rather than filled with that fire he thought she had left in her. “You haven’t said a damn thing that’s true. You don’t  _ ‘get it _ ;’ you’ve shown that well enough. Maybe whatever world you live in kept going, but mine took a blade to the back while trying to save his kingdom. Whatever fire you think I’ve got, whatever drive, it’s not there anymore. There is  _ nothing  _ there, anymore, because everything that I was— _ everything I was for— _ is  _ gone _ . And it’s never coming back.”

 

Hot tears spilled down her cheeks. Gladio’s face was still frozen, shocked. He still didn’t understand, but at least he had shut up. It was true that his father had died, just like Noct’s father had died. But that was it. That was the end of things. A mentor. A role-model. Their blood. That was bad enough. But it was  _ nothing _ to what she felt.

 

“I have no world and I have no worth.” Her voice cracked through the tears. “I am an empty husk.”

 

There weren’t any more words that followed. Not from her or anyone else. She dropped her gaze and returned to contemplating nothing at all, noting that the silence in the car was thicker. Noct took her hand; she leaned against him but didn’t speak. He knew all that already. He knew that he was the only reason she was still there, the only anchor she had in that cruel, cold world that didn’t include their father anymore. 

 

It remained that way until they reached Lestallum: tense and silent with no one daring to say another word. Reina’s tears had dried on her cheeks by the time they exited the car. 

 

There was more bad news waiting for them in the hotel.

 

Iris stood in the lobby, wringing her hands; she nearly cried when she saw them.

 

“Oh, Gladdy.”

 

“What’s wrong?” Gladio pushed forward.

 

Reina stopped behind Noct, glancing back as Gladio hurried to his sister’s side. She surmised he was a better brother to Iris than he was to her—or whatever the hell he was trying to be—because Iris loved him with all her heart. Reina didn’t really feel bitter that he had tried to convince her to just  _ get over it _ , because she didn’t really feel anything at all except a persistent ache surrounding the gaping hole inside her. She tried to care about the fact that something ill had clearly befallen those who stayed in Lestallum, judging by the look on Iris’ face, but she couldn’t muster the energy. Everything else had turned to shit. What was one more thing?

 

“I let you down. I never made it to Caem.” Iris’ voice wavered. 

 

Reina thought she should have felt some concern or sympathy or  _ something _ . But she didn’t. Not even when they followed Iris upstairs and had the story from her; she told how the imperials had come and how Jared became one more casualty of the Empire’s expansion. He hadn’t deserved that end, but neither had so many others. She didn’t feel sorry for Talcott; he was so young and it must have been painful to lose his only guardian at that age… 

 

And yet all she could think was that it didn’t matter at all. 

 

When the conversation died down, Reina slipped away to sit on the balcony, her legs hanging over the edge and her arms draped across the horizontal rail. She didn’t like Lestallum any more now than she had the first time they had come through. It was a sorry excuse for a city, cobbled together from bits and pieces. Nothing like the magnificent Crown City, with her crowded streets and towering buildings—every one a piece of art. Lestallum looked like someone had assembled it from the contents of a garbage pile. 

 

Insomnia had been home. But more than that, it had been a representation of Lucis; it was the heart of the kingdom and all the people were Lucian through and through. They were her father’s people. They were  _ her  _ people. But the ones here didn’t know any king; they were in that awkward state, caught halfway between belonging to Lucis and belonging nowhere at all. Once she had insisted that even the outlanders were Lucian. Now she wasn’t so sure. These people didn’t care about her any more than she cared about them. It didn’t matter to them that the king was dead and Niflheim held the capital. It didn’t matter if the empire took over, because they didn’t see any difference.

 

But Jared had been Insomnian. He had been one of theirs; he should have been protected by them. Noct had told Talcott they would make everything alright, like it was a guarantee. He had left out the part where they had no power, no way of making  _ anything  _ right. 

 

Reina drew her phone from her pocket, swiping it unlocked and looking at the empty alerts bar as if she expected to find something. Instead she ended up scrolling through the same pictures she had been looking at for two and a half weeks.

 

Someone sat down beside her, drawing her from miserable thoughts. She glanced over to find Ignis there; he didn’t look at her, just out across the city. She shut off her phone and turned her eyes back to the meager sights, as well.

 

“Reina… About what Gladio said, earlier…”

 

_ Not you, too _ . Reina thought bitterly, not looking at him.  _ What is this? Some sort of conspiracy where Noctis’ friends try to make me feel better in the worst way possible? _

 

“He wasn’t thinking. I am certain he regrets it; I cannot begin to imagine what you are going through, but… might I inquire what is keeping you here?”

 

Reina looked up, startled in spite of herself. Not only was that not what she had been expecting, but had he just asked her why she hadn’t killed herself, yet? There wasn’t a simple answer. Father had told them to stay together—to stay  _ safe  _ together. He had sent her with Noctis, perhaps to see Noct’s destiny fulfilled or perhaps because he simply couldn’t bear to send her to her death. But he was gone, now. And surely, wherever he was, he  _ knew  _ she couldn’t just move on and live her life.

 

“I will see Noct through this. Do what I can for him,” she said at length, looking curiously up at Ignis.

 

He removed his glasses and cleaned them slowly on a square of fabric from his pocket. “And are you? Doing what you can for him?”

 

Reina swallowed hard and dropped her gaze. She was more angry with herself than with him; he had only asked the question. “No. I’m worthless, here.”

 

“What’s holding you back?”

 

“What do you mean?” Reina’s brow furrowed as she looked at him again. Ignis had replaced his glasses and regarded her levelly. 

 

“What I mean is that you are extraordinarily capable. Set on the purpose of helping Noctis, I believe you would be a great asset to him.”

 

The furrow in her brow didn’t go away. How could he sit there and tell her she was capable when he had seen her bumbling about for the last two weeks? She shook her head. “I have  _ no  _ skills that are any good to anyone.”

 

_ No one still alive, anyway,  _ she thought, bitterly.

 

“No? I would beg to differ. I seem to recall a Lucian Princess—not so long ago—who spent countless hours training with her naginata, who had an uncanny knack for getting people to listen to her, and who was, quite possibly, the only person in the kingdom who understood the Crown Prince’s motivations.”

 

“Training isn’t doing,” Reina muttered. She looked down at her dangling feet again. “Don’t you see? I spent all that time… and in the end it didn’t matter. I still failed.” Her voice dropped to a whisper; her vision blurred. “I couldn’t save him.”

 

A beat, then: “Ah. I think I do see.”

 

He didn’t elaborate, so she didn’t correct him. Perhaps he did understand. Perhaps he didn’t. Reina just stared at the ground fifteen feet below, noting calmly that even if she slipped out from underneath the railing and hit the ground she would likely still survive. Unfortunate.

 

“Your Highness—“ Ignis paused, then, apparently thinking better of the title, he amended: “Reina.”

 

She looked up when she felt his hand on her shoulder.

 

“I have no reason for you to believe me, nor proof to offer. But I believe that you have worth all on your own. Those things that you learned—from His Majesty and for him—are still with you, though the king is gone. Training  _ is  _ doing, by definition.” 

 

Ignis squeezed her shoulder gently and stood while she was still staring at him, trying to sift through his words.

 

“Think about it… Reina.”

 

She watched him leave, mind numb. The first coherent thought that drifted through her mind was how very similar his words were to something her father had told her, once.


	25. Rising Light

######  _ Spring, 753: _

_ (Three years before) _

 

It took time to settle into the new pace of Reina’s life and, as with any change, it was exhausting and frustrating at first. For weeks she had done little but practice with her naginata and stick to her father’s side. It had been disheartening to truly recognize how much weaker than Gladio she was—or Noctis, or Ignis, or really anyone that she practiced with. That was an unfortunate side effect of being female. She had sought out some of the women in the Crownsguard for advice and ended up with a laundry list of exercises for building strength: just ten more things to add to her already overfull schedule, to torture her already exhausted body with. She did them, anyway. 

 

Her grades slipped as she crammed school work into whatever seconds remained unscheduled with training or meetings. Her default look became whatever was fast and easy. 

 

But, bit by bit, she stopped falling asleep over her studies in the evenings. The exhausted look that followed her around turned into a solid calm. She didn’t ache all over in the mornings, anymore, and hours of training with—or without—Gladio didn’t leave her dead on her feet. 

 

Life settled into a new normal. She woke around dawn and squeezed in last minute homework before breakfast; she ate with her father in his room, more often than not, after they discovered it felt substantially less empty than the dining room that way; she left for school, usually without spending more than fifteen minutes on preparation, and returned in time to look in on the king while he held court. Then she practiced: on her own or with whoever was on hand; there was a good four-hour block of time before she needed to shower and change for dinner. She ate with her father and stayed with him for the remainder of the night. Sometimes that included a council meeting, other times it was work in his study, and still other nights it was sitting in for a quiet night. Whatever time during the evening wasn’t occupied with assisting her father was spent on her school work; where she slept at night depended entirely upon the king’s day-to-day health.

 

It had been nearly two months of that, now. She had given in to pleas by her friends only twice in that time to join them for weekend excursions—and only those when she was sure that her father was in good health. But now, at long last, the school year was winding down. Final exams had begun, signalling not just the end of the term, but the end of their high school education as well. Reina felt she ought to have been excited to take the next big step in her life—graduation, followed by university in the fall—but the only thing she felt was relief that the time in her schedule would be freed up to make her available whenever she was needed. 

 

The first day of exams had ended and, after much cajoling and an extended phone call to her father, Reina had been persuaded to spend the remainder of the afternoon and a portion of the evening studying with her friends. Against her better judgement she had put off her daily training and stayed out until past dark, but it was difficult to justify going home when the king insisted he was  _ absolutely fine _ , today, and that she should put her exams first. Also against her better judgement, she stopped at Noctis’ apartment on the way home, recalling her father’s comments about Noct that morning. It would be nice to return home and be able to say that Noctis was doing as well in his exams as could be expected, considering who he was.

 

So she went. And on her way up a familiar face brushed past her with an unfamiliar storm on his brow.

 

“Ignis?”

 

He turned to look at her and she watched as he struggled to put away the scowl he wore. “Ah, Your Highness. Forgive me; I didn’t see you.”

 

“What’s wrong?” She asked, disregarding his apology.

 

Ignis hesitated, “It’s… nothing.”

 

“Noctis,” Reina guessed; there were only so many options, when he was walking out of Noct’s apartment.

 

It seemed to be the right guess. He sighed, deflating. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and stood with one arm folded over his chest, not quite meeting her gaze.

 

“Your brother can be… frustrating.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Reina laughed. She took a step forward, touching his shoulder; he  _ did  _ look at her, then, and she gestured to the overstuffed chairs in the lobby. They sat. “What’s he done, this time?”

 

“Much the same as usual: not studying and spending his time at the arcade, instead—but… I  _ had  _ hoped to encourage him to take more interest in the political process. You certainly can’t do all of that for him, once he is king, and nor can I.” Reina’s stomach twisted uncomfortably when Ignis spoke of Noct becoming king—not because she felt her brother wouldn’t rise to the position, but because there was an event that had to happen between now and then in order for him to become king. It was the thing she dreaded most in life.

 

“So I dropped off some reports—notes I had taken from my own observation of meetings—and asked him to review them so that we could discuss what is happening in the kingdom. Needless to say, he did not read them.”

 

“Surprising,” said Reina.

 

Ignis made a sound of frustration, “I  _ cannot understand  _ what goes through his mind, sometimes. I tried to convince him that it was important, tried to impress upon him that, inevitably, when he is king, these are things he will need to know. But any amount of pressure invariably leads to him shutting up like a clam.”

 

“Wait.” Reina sat up in her chair, a furrow on her brow. “You tried to convince Noctis to take up responsibilities by reminding him that someday he’ll have to?  _ Gods _ , Ignis. You’re so smart and  _ so dense _ .” She buried her face in her hands, shaking her head. When she looked up again, Ignis was looking taken aback.

 

“Noctis  _ knows _ . Of course he knows. But he’s so afraid that he won’t be able to do it… and  _ neither _ of us can bare to think about… Father dying. He handles both those things the way he handles anything; by not thinking about it,” said Reina.

 

“But he  _ will  _ have to—”

 

“Of course he will. But when you tell him he’s not living up to his future, that he’s not ready to be king, you’re telling him  _ exactly  _ what he’s telling himself. And having your insecurities flung in your face is enough to make anyone mad.”

 

Ignis was silent for a moment, pensive. Then: “I see. It seems I owe him an apology.”

 

Reina flapped her hand at him, standing up, “Save it; he’ll just be mad at you if you go back. I’ll try to talk some sense into him, but he’ll forgive you, anyway.”

 

He was on his feet, as well. At her offer to reason with Noctis, he gave a short bow.

 

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

 

Reina’s mouth quirked, “Reina.”

 

“Reina.”

 

“Goodnight, Ignis.”

 

Ignis went on his way and Reina continued up to her brother’s apartment. She let herself in and found Noctis laying on the couch, staring at the ceiling. His head turned toward her at the sound of the door, a scowl printed across his face. It slipped when he saw she wasn’t Ignis.

 

“Hey,” Reina set her book bag down on his table and took a seat on the couch next to him.

 

“Hey,” said Noctis.

 

“You fight with Ignis?”

 

The scowl returned. “Yeah.”

 

Reina nodded, but fell silent. She wasn’t going to tell him Ignis hadn’t meant to rake up all those negative thoughts. He probably already knew. Even if he didn’t, she was going to let him steer the conversation where he wanted. It took a solid minute of silence, but eventually he did.

 

“How long has Dad been using a cane?”

 

She glanced down at him. It wasn’t quite what she had expected. “Oh… since before that MT. March or February.”

 

“You didn’t think to tell me that?” He growled, sitting up and swinging his legs out so his feet rested on the floor.

 

Reina considered him. It would have been easy to feel defensive; a lot had been going on and, with one thing after another, it had been pushed from her mind. It would have been easy to try to shift the blame to  _ him _ —after all, if he came by the Citadel and helped now and then, he would have known. But she didn’t do either of those things. Because, despite the glare he gave her and the accusation in his tone, she heard the fear that drove it. She just looked at him with melancholy understanding until he dropped his gaze.

 

Noct slumped forward, his elbows on his knees, and stared at the floor instead. 

 

“Is Dad going to die?” He asked after a moment.

 

Reina shook her head; she didn’t want to answer the question, because the correct answer—the practical answer—was that inevitably, their father would be drained dry by the ring. To stop it, Niflheim would have to no longer be a threat and, however much she wanted to believe that was possible, she couldn’t say for certain. 

 

“I don’t know.” She whispered it because she didn’t trust her voice. She turned her eyes downward to hide the tears that blurred her vision. “Not for a while….”

 

For a moment neither of them spoke. Then Noctis reached out to take her hand; she looked up to meet his eyes and found the anger was gone.

 

She gave him a feeble half-smile. “Do you want to come home for dinner? He would like to see you.”

 

“Nah…” 

 

Another response that, Reina surmised, would have puzzled Ignis. If he was so concerned, why didn’t he visit? The answer was fairly simple. Indeed, it was the answer to many ‘why?’ questions that could be asked about Noctis: avoidance was the easiest way to cope with uncomfortable truths. She didn’t fault him for it. It was easier to remember Father as he had been than to face a grim future.

 

“Alright. I’ll tell him you said hi.” Reina leaned forward to give her twin a hug.

 

“Yeah.”He hugged her back. When they broke apart there was some unspoken worry on his face, like he wanted to tell her to take care of their father but didn’t want to admit he was concerned.

 

“I’ll look out for him,” she said, anyway.

 

“I know.”

  
  


It was nearly eight when Reina climbed the steps to the Citadel again. Guilt burned in her stomach at having been gone all day, at having put off her weapons training for so long. Perhaps she would have time to do some exercises before bed, but her first order of business was checking in on her father. 

 

The attendant at the main doors greeted her with a bow and, upon being asked, told her he believed the king was in his study.

 

Reina went there directly, without stopping off in her room to drop off her bag or change from her school uniform. Outside the double doors, the two guards confirmed the attendant’s guess: they only ever stood guard there if the king was within. She was admitted without any fuss.

 

The king sat at his desk, elbows braced on the wood surface as his eyes skimmed a stack of papers before him. He looked up when she entered.

 

“Ah, Reina,” He smiled and she couldn’t help but return it. She dropped her bookbag on the floor and came to stand beside him; her hands settled on his shoulders as she leaned forward to give him a kiss on the cheek.

 

“How are you, Father?”

 

“I am well enough.”

 

She studied him for a moment, then: “You know, a wise man once told me that a diplomat should be an excellent liar.”

 

That drew another smile from him. “Did I tell you that? It seems poor advice for a father to give his daughter.”

 

“Yes, I thought so, too,” Reina agreed.

 

The king sighed, leaning back in his chair as Reina straightened and moved to lean against his desk, facing him.

 

“I am tired, but you knew that,” he said, evidently deciding that there was no point in perpetuating the lie. His eyes settled on the papers on his desk and he shook his head. “And Niflheim’s renewed interest in our borders concerns me greatly. I fear this war detracts from matters closer to home; there are tasks that a king must do, which I simply have no time for. I am no longer—I  _ can no longer be _ —the face of this kingdom. Even if there was time for it, being in the public eye, now, is unwise. People must believe in the strength of their leaders and I am afraid an old man like me simply does not inspire that manner of confidence.”

 

Reina shifted so that she sat on top of his desk, careful not to displace any papers. Discussion of political matters and concerns of the kingdom was a frequent enough occurrence between them, but never had he so clearly told her what was troubling him. That he chose to do so now was more gratifying than it was troubling; if he was willing to tell her, perhaps he would also be willing to let her help.

 

“Then let me do the things you cannot attend to.”

 

He smiled ruefully at her. “You are only seventeen, Reina. I cannot ask you to take on this magnitude of responsibility.”

 

“You’re not asking me to. I’m volunteering,” Reina pointed out. He looked unconvinced. “Father, I will be finished with school in four days. I will be eighteen in three months. Is that not old enough? Is that not free enough?”

 

“And what of university in the fall?”

 

“I will cross that bridge when I come to it,” Reina said levelly, but not lightly.

 

The king sighed and shook his head once more. He wasn’t so opposed that he was willing to put his foot down on the matter, or else he would have already. That meant he could be convinced, with the right argument and the right amount of passion. Reina had the second, at the least.

 

“Maybe I don’t have a destiny like Noctis does and I’m not fated to wear the crown and protect the crystal like all my forefathers, but if I can be of some use to you, that is enough for me.” As she spoke she leaned forward, meeting his gaze with that fire of determination in her eyes. She hadn’t forgotten her conversation with Noctis earlier than night, and the fear of losing her father was still fresh in her mind. “Please, Father. Let me ease your burden; you don’t need to carry this weight on your own when I would willingly share it. Give me  _ purpose _ . If, when our time together is concluded, I can be assured that I made your life a little bit easier, a little bit  _ brighter _ , that is everything I want.”

 

“Reina…” he leaned forward, taking her hand. “You have always made my life brighter.”

 

“Then let me make it easier.” Reina held tight to his fingers. “Every smile I earn from you is a gift; every laugh a blessing.”

 

The surprise on his face was palpable, as was the love that shone through his eyes. He leaned back in his chair again, drawing her hand along with him until she put her feet on the floor again and shifted to sit with him, instead. If she had grown at all since twelve, she might have been arguably too big to do so, but it was easier to justify when Reina had never been more than half his size. He hugged her tightly and she wrapped her arms around his neck, savoring the feeling in the face of the knowledge that she wouldn’t always have it.

 

After a silence, heavy with consideration, the king spoke.

 

“Nothing changes until after your exams are through. This weekend we shall discuss your new responsibilities. When fall comes, we will reassess what can reasonably remain in your schedule without hindering your education.” 

 

Reina pulled back to look at him, hardly daring to believe her ears. He was smiling. 

 

“If that is what you desire,” he added.

 

“It is.”

 

The king settled his hands on either side of her face, his expression turning more serious, “But you must swear to tell me if you have too many responsibilities to handle.”

 

Reina smirked, in spite of the severity with which he looked at her. “If you do the same.”

 

“You are, without a doubt, the most devious child I have ever met.” The severe look dissolved into a new smile. “We have an accord.”


	26. A Place in the World

######  _ Summer, 753: _

_ (Three years before) _

 

It had been, without contest, the busiest summer of Reina’s life. Her school work was quickly and neatly replaced by new duties. She sat in council meetings with and without her father. When he was indisposed elsewhere she took notes and shared in whatever brief quiet time was allowed them. 

 

“Housing prices are up from refugee traffic. It’s causing trouble in the lower city where people are struggling to make payments in the first place. If it keeps up, the people we offer succor to will be homeless as soon as they set foot in the city.”

 

Reina lay on her stomach across her father’s bed, propped on her elbows with a stack of handwritten notes before her. She looked up at the king as she paused. He sat beside her, leaning back against the headboard as he flipped through his own pile of papers. She was fairly certain that he was only half listening, and while she could hardly blame him, it  _ did  _ seem like a significant problem in her eyes. She didn’t press.

 

It was a few seconds before the king responded, flipping one of his pages over and setting it on the stack beside him. “And what would you do to combat this trouble?”

 

Her answer was on her lips nearly before he had stopped speaking. “I believe there should a place for these people who are displaced to go while they get their bearings. Temporary housing. It should be a human right to be sheltered and fed, and we could provide that.”

 

“Where does the funding come from?” He inquired, still not looking up at her.

 

“The refugees contribute to the economy once they’re on their feet, so in effect they pay for it themselves. But in the meantime we’ll have to draw from tax money to cover the costs—I’ve done some sums.” Reina flipped through her pile of notes, pulling out the necessary sheet and holding it out to her father. After a moment he took it, his eyes flicking over the paper. 

 

He handed it back to her after a cursory glance. “Good. See it done.”

 

Reina blinked at him, confused. “Father?”

 

At last he  _ did  _ look up at her. His eyes crinkled when he smiled and he lifted one hand to ruffle her hair.

 

“You hold my seat on that council, my dear; use it to bring your plans to life. Next time you needn’t ask.”

 

Reina’s eyes widened as she realized the implications of his words. For months she had taken his place on various committees, but only in spirit, really. She took notes and she reported. He asked her what should be done and then made the final decision on what  _ would  _ be done before he moved forward. But tonight he was sitting there telling her to take over that portion of his responsibilities as well. 

 

“You believe I can manage this entirely on my own?” Reina gaped.

 

The king smiled again, most likely at the stunned expression on her face. 

 

“I  _ know  _ you are capable of managing this. The only thing you lack is confidence in yourself—and that I cannot teach you; you must find it on your own.” He paused, considering her fondly with the smile still lingering. “Although, I note you have no shortage of self-assurance when concern for my health is foremost in your mind.”

 

“That’s different,” Reina wrinkled her nose at him.

 

“Is it?”

 

She opened her mouth to tell him that  _ of course  _ it was, then shut it with a snap as her brain caught up. Was it, really? Everything she was doing now was driven by concern for him. She took his place on the council so he didn’t have to. She attended press conferences and placed herself in the public eye because he couldn’t. And every extra responsibility she took on she delighted in because every new task in her schedule was one less on his; she could  _ see  _ the strain lifting from her father’s shoulders.

 

The king didn’t make any comment on her conspicuous silence. He simply raised his eyebrows in silent instruction to think about what he had said, before returning his attention back to the papers in his lap.

 

It was only one of the many ways her life changed over the summer. It was a slow process to build respect for herself—rather than her title—among her father’s councillors, but she pushed determinedly through all the same, dealing with all complaints and objections. She cultivated new faces; there was the look she drew from the king—solid and confident—which she wore to meetings and court, no matter how uncertain she felt underneath.Then there was her public image; she built this on smiles and carefully chosen words, portraying herself as intelligent and charismatic—it was  _ their  _ belief that mattered; she didn’t need to be as intelligent as she was believed to be (and, indeed, she would never have claimed to be, openly), but her people needed to believe she could handle the kingdom.

 

They  _ had  _ become  _ her _ people. She did her best to maintain a connection when she was among them and do best by them when she wasn’t. Putting faces and lives to the nameless throngs of people in Insomnia made her all the more motivated to choose in their best interests.

 

It wasn’t always easy.

 

She had already been sitting in court with the king for the better part of a year before the summer began; with the schedule change she was there more frequently, making decisions that she would once have said she had no qualifications to make. But her father pushed her forward and she stood on her own feet, refusing to fall. If she stumbled it was only momentarily.

 

By the time autumn was preparing to overtake summer once more, Reina was just beginning to feel comfortable in her new place. Going back to school seemed pointless by then.

 

“I don’t have to enroll, you know.”

 

The king looked up sharply from his work. He sat in one of the emerald armchairs in the sitting room of his suite with a ledger open on his lap and a pen in hand. 

 

“I would not continue down that trail of thought, were I you.”

 

Reina made a face at him, turning to look back out the window at the back end of the room. He spoke in that tone that left no room for argument. So why was it so difficult to stop herself from forming one?

 

She smoothed her hands over the front of her dress and turned to look at her father once more. He had returned to his work, trusting that there was nothing further to discuss. She should have been able to leave it.

 

“There is no reason for me to continue taking classes at a higher level. There is nothing I can learn there of any use.”

 

His pen stopped moving, but he didn’t look up immediately, as if he was trying to decide whether or not to acknowledge her argument when he had already made it clear there was to be no further discussion on the subject. At last he sighed, set his pen down, and looked up at her. His expression was stern, but not angry.

 

“Are you so certain that you know everything?” He inquired, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Not that I know everything, Father—that the things I need to learn aren’t taught in at a university. I can learn them from doing and observing. And taking time out of my day to go back to school will just be a waste.” Reina’s hands twisted together in front of her; she was relieved he wasn’t cross, but it was still against her better judgement to argue with him.

 

“There are some things learned at school that are not taught in the classroom,” he said mildly.

 

Reina’s brow furrowed. What did that even mean?

 

She watched as his expression softened—something like regret flashed across his features for a moment before it was gone again. He motioned and she moved obediently toward him. 

 

“This was not how I had wanted things to turn out for you. That this has become your life—looking after an old man and caring for the kingdom in his stead—while everything else is a mere annoyance… it ought to have been the other way around.” He sat forward to take her hands in his when she reached his chair. “You are only just eighteen. A time will likely come when you must help Noctis fill these shoes, but until then you should  _ enjoy yourself _ .”

 

Pieces clicked into place in Reina’s mind. He didn’t necessarily want her to go to school for the purpose of education, but because he wanted her to have a normal life in spite of everything. She held his hands a little tighter, lowering herself onto the arm of his chair.

 

“I  _ do  _ enjoy myself, Father. I’m never happier than when I am with my family, and nothing is more gratifying than bringing you peace and joy. For the first time in my life I have direction and purpose; I feel like I have worth.”

 

He made a sound of regret, drawing her hands forward until she shifted into the chair with him.

 

“Of  _ course  _ you have worth, Reina. The absence of fate’s hand on your shoulder is not a curse. In time you will find your path; there is no rush.”

 

He smoothed his hand over her hair as she settled her head against his shoulder. 

 

Her head tilted back so she could look at him before she spoke: “I have found my path.”

 

“Ah, Reina.” He looked down at her, his face twisted with regret and guilt. “Doubtless this is of my own doing. So focused was I on giving Noctis a normal life that neglected the same for you. And now…” He sighed. “I never meant to imply that his fate made his worth greater.”

 

“I know, Father,” Reina said, unperturbed but for her father’s distress. “I understand what you want for Noctis and I understand why. You haven’t failed either of us. And if you trust me in anything, trust me when I say  _ I am happy _ .”

 

The guilt on his face faded to a certain look of melancholy. He pushed her hair back from her face and cupped her cheek with one hand.

 

“It wasn’t so long ago that you spent every other night with your friends, yet I have hardly seen them this whole year.”

 

“They’re not gone,” she smiled. “I still see them and I still talk to them. Things are just different, and we all understand that.”

 

He sighed and shut his eyes, leaning his head back against the chair. Reina settled back against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck.

 

“I would like for you to enroll in fall courses. Humor an old man; take some time for yourself while you are able.”

 

Reina hugged him a little more tightly. She didn’t like the idea of leaving for so long every day, again, but when he made a request like that she couldn’t say no. If it was for his peace of mind, she would do it. But perhaps she didn’t need to take so many classes.

 

“Of course, Father,” Reina murmured. 

 

“Thank you, my dear.” He kissed her forehead and held her a little closer. That was enough; a quiet moment alone and everything was very nearly perfect. All that was missing was Noctis.

  
  


“Hey.”

 

“Hey.”

 

The greeting and response exchanged by twins certainly didn’t give the impression that they were pleased to see each other. Nor did the fact that, when they crossed paths in the open hall of their university, they simply stood apart in silence for a few moments.

 

“Haven’t seen you around that much,” Noctis observed, leaning against a stone pillar and watching people stream past outside.

 

“Yeah. I’m only here two days a week.” Their father had instructed her to enroll in classes; he  _ hadn’t  _ mentioned how many.

 

“Oh yeah? How many classes are you taking?”

 

Reina fished a scrap of paper from the pocket of her shorts and handed it to him, resettling her grip on the textbooks in her arms. “Just the two.”

 

Noctis glanced over the paper. “Aren’t these… medical services cert classes?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

He considered her for a moment before handing her schedule back to her. “You planning to get certified?”

 

“Nah,” Reina tucked it away again, giving an indifferent shrug. She didn’t really have plans to finish anything at all—it wasn’t uncommon for people to sample different fields before choosing, but something told Reina she wouldn’t get that far. If things continued as they had been going at home for the last year, she would  _ have to  _ free up time in her schedule for her father. Classes were the first thing on her list to drop.

 

“How does Dad feel about that? You not taking a full load and all.”

 

Reina pulled a face at him. “He doesn’t know, of course, and I’ll thank you not to tell him. He about had a fit when I suggested not enrolling at all, but I can’t do everything  _ and  _ take full classes. And I’m not giving up the other stuff.”

 

“Huh. Yeah, I saw you on TV. Looked good.”

 

“Just looked good?”

 

“Well, sounded good, I guess, but I wasn’t paying that much attention.”

 

Reina swiped at him. Noctis ducked, grinning.

 

“How is Dad, by the way?”

 

“He’s alright,” Reina admitted. “Better, recently, I think. It helps that he doesn’t have so much to do. You should come visit.”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“Doing anything tonight?”

 

“Uh..”

 

“Come to dinner,” Reina said before he could think of an excuse not to.

 

She watched Noctis rub his scalp and look indecisive. She understood why; it wasn’t that he didn’t want to see them, or even that he hated the Citadel. No, he resisted coming by because it was easier to deny the state of their father’s health when he wasn’t about, easier to write off Reina’s fussing as just that. But he had put it off long enough and the king was doing as well as he could be expected to, these days.

 

“Come on. You can ride home with me.” Reina wrapped her free arm around Noctis’ and dragged him down the hall. Noctis groaned, but didn’t pull away.

 

“Oh, shut up,” Reina chided. “We’ll surprise Dad. Think how happy he’ll be.”

 

“Yeah…” Noctis relented, reluctant all the same.

 

They rode back to the Citadel together. It was a few hours still until dinner and Reina was expected in court with the king in the meantime; so she dropped Noctis off in her room when she went up to change.

 

“What am  _ I  _ going to do for two hours?” Noctis complained as he threw himself on her bed.

 

“Whatever you like, provided it doesn’t include telling Dad you’re here. Go find Gladio. I’m sure he would be pleased to beat you over the head for a couple hours,” Reina suggested as she ran a comb through her raven locks and checked herself in the bathroom mirror one last time. “I’ve got to go. See you soon, brother-dear.”

 

She paused on her way out to give Noctis a kiss on the cheek—which he protested loudly—and the left to go to the throne room. She was admitted without pause. Once she would have had to officially request an audience with the king, but no longer; admittedly, requesting the audience consisted of an attendant asking her father if she could be admitted to court, which he always said yes to, but it was one less step in the process. Now the doors swung open for her nearly as soon as she had reached them.

 

“Her Royal Highness, Princess Reina Lucis Caelum.”

 

Reina passed through the open doors, between the guards, and approached the sweeping stair at the far end of the room. The king sat on his throne and Reina paused at the base of the stairs to curtsey to him.

 

“Your Majesty.”

 

“Reina.” He smiled at her, but she could see the weariness in the way it wavered. 

 

He motioned her forward and she climbed the stairs to his seat, keeping the carefully schooled public face in place, in spite of the renewed concern she felt. It was only five in the afternoon; he shouldn’t have been tired enough for it to show through so readily. 

 

When she reached him she pressed his hand between hers as she stooped to give him a kiss on the cheek. 

 

“How are you, Father?”

 

Her body hid the grimace he gave from the other eyes in the room. “I have been better.”

 

At least he had the good sense to know that there was no point lying to her, anymore. It didn’t make her feel any better that she couldn’t do anything, though.

 

She squeezed his fingers one last time, giving him a sympathetic look before she straightened and taking her place beside him. If it hadn’t been such bad form to try to carry on a private conversation in the middle of the audience chamber then she would have persisted. But it was neither the time nor the place and Reina understood that. Still, as she settled into the flow of the afternoon, her mind was only half on the matters at hand.

 

The other half dwelled on her father. Not for the first time she wished she could take some of her own energy and give it to him. Her schedule didn’t drag on her so much, anymore; she had adjusted and now there was more than enough to make his life a  _ little bit  _ more comfortable.

 

If only…

 

Those thoughts occupied her, when she should have been paying more attention to the comings and goings in the room, through the majority of the session. 

 

When she enchanted an everyday object to transform it into a curative, was she not putting her own energy into it? And wasn’t it possible for them to share abilities with others? So why would it not be possible to do what she wanted to do?

 

Reina’s hand settled on the king’s where it rested on his armrest. She sacrificed further attention for the bond she built; it was something like the feeling of borrowing magic from Noctis, but instead of sharing an ability—an intrinsic knowledge—she shared something deeper inside her. She opened a channel and nudged her own strength across, until she could feel the steady flow of it where their skin met. 

 

The reaction was not immediate nor stark. But as seconds turned to minutes, she watched the tired crease fade from her father’s brow. His shoulders squared a little more, his weight supported less by the throne and more by his own strength—by  _ her  _ strength. Reina allowed herself a private smile and a surge of pride. It had  _ worked _ ! That dream she had thought was only ever that, an impossibility that would never be realized, had actually  _ worked _ . And if she could share her energy with him so literally, what was to stop her from truly being his strength? The ring drained his—but now she could replace it with her own.

 

It was a few minutes before the king fully registered the change. His eyes flicked toward her—the tiny, self-satisfied smile on her lips—then to their hands. In an instant his expression flashed alarm and anger; he pulled his hand away from her, breaking the bond and cutting off the flow. Reina’s stomach churned at the look he gave her. The way his lips tightened, his jaw jutting; it was a look he usually reserved for Niflheim. It was a look she had actively spent her entire life avoiding having directed at her. And now, in her eagerness to improve his well-being, she had stumbled straight into his displeasure.

 

The king turned his eyes back on the audience chamber. Reina folded her hands in her lap and looked down, desperately holding to the mask she wore to keep her face. If she let it fall, the whole room would see the distress and fear that she felt. The only thing she wanted less than to shed tears in court was to disappoint her father. 

 

Except she had already done that.

 

And all she had wanted was to help him.

 

Court adjourned a brief twenty minutes later. Reina couldn’t have restated a single thing that happened in that time. Her mind was too busy racing through possibilities. She couldn’t even fully comprehend why he was angry with her—she just knew that she would do anything to make it right again.

 

The king rose, Reina a beat behind him. He didn’t look at her as he moved stiffly down the stairs and out of the room. Reina clenched her hands to keep them from shaking and hurried after him. The hall outside was mercifully empty, but Reina had to trot to keep up with the pace he set.

 

“Father—“

 

He halted and turned toward her; the look on his face stopped Reina in her tracks.

 

“Do you understand what you have done?” He asked, his voice tight with control.

 

Reina struggled to keep her face neutral, but her eyes widened all the same. “I… shared my energy with you.”

 

“Yes. But not simply the sort that is restored over night. This is your  _ lifeblood,  _ Reina! It keeps you alive. It gives you strength and youth.” For the first time she saw the fear behind the anger. Of course he was angry with her, if he felt she was putting herself in danger for his sake.

 

Reina dropped her eyes as her mask slipped. She held her hands clasped in front of her as tears blurred her vision. It was true that she hadn’t thought through the consequences, but even having them thrust at her like daggers, she couldn’t regret it. If she could trade her life for his, wouldn’t it had been worth it? 

 

“I’m sorry, Father.” She whispered because she didn’t trust her voice not to crack; she watched tears fall and hit the tile floor by her feet. “I’m sorry for scaring you. I should have spoken to you, first. I didn’t mean to disappoint you… I just wanted you to feel better…”

 

For a moment she watched teardrops fall in silence, biting her lip to keep from making a sound. She wondered if he was angry enough to leave her standing there without another word, but she couldn’t bring herself to look up at him.

 

At last she heard him sigh, the sound of his cane on tile as he took a step toward her and pulled her into a hug. Reina was too startled to respond, immediately. She stared, wide-eyed and frozen, at the king’s shoes for a moment before relaxing against him.

 

“Reina…” She could hear his voice in his chest when he spoke; it was softer, now—regretful. She shut her eyes tight and listened. “You  _ did  _ frighten me. But never have you disappointed me.”

 

Reina tilted her head back to look up at him. He smoothed her hair back from her face and brushed her tears away, giving her a melancholy smile.

 

“You have sacrificed too much in my name, already. I cannot let you give me this, as well.”

 

She buried her face against his chest. Whatever he said she couldn’t regret what she had done. Perhaps later she would be able to convince him it was worthwhile in some circumstances, but just then she would be satisfied with never seeing that look on his face ever again.

 

“As you say, Father,” she murmured. 

 

“Thank you, my dear, for understanding.” He hugged her tight before speaking again. “Now, shall we have dinner?”

 

Reina took a deep breath, breathing in his scent—like earth and clean clothes—before nodding. She drew back and swiped at her eyes once more to dry them. Her father’s arms fell away, but his hands settled on either side of her face. She looked up at him, half fearing that look whenever she met his gaze, but it wasn’t there. Now there was a smile. He leaned down to kiss her forehead.

 

“I love you too much to accept something so precious from you.”

 

Her eyes searched his face for a moment as she found herself at a loss for words. Finally she nodded mutely. He released her and straightened, offering his arm, which she clung to with both hands as if she was eight and afraid of the dark again. It was undignified, but she didn’t care. It took the long walk to the dining hall for Reina to calm her nerves and loosen her death grip on the king’s arm. They were nearly to the door before she remembered.

 

_ Noctis _ .

 

She stopped mid step. Her father turned to look at her, catching the stricken look on her face.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Oh!” Reina forced her face back to a normal expression, cursing herself for forgetting. “I nearly forgot! I have a surprise for you.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Reina smiled; it was a small, shy smile, but she managed it all the same. Having Noctis at dinner would smooth things over the rest of the way.

 

“Yes. It’s inside the dining hall.”

 

_ I hope _ .

 

Noctis wasn’t known for his punctuality.

 

“Let us not linger, then,” he said, motioning her as they crossed the last few steps to the dining hall. The guards at the doors pulled them open and Reina held her breath walking through, praying that she wouldn’t look the fool for claiming Noctis was there when he wasn’t.

 

He was.


	27. Whole Again

######  _ Summer, 753: _

_ (Three years before) _

 

“Noctis!”

 

Noctis stood behind the chair— _ his chair _ —that had been conspicuously empty at the table for a full year, now.

 

“Hey, Dad.” Noct shoved his hands in his pockets and gave a sheepish grin.

 

Reina released the king’s arm as he crossed to give his son a hug. She smiled, pleased to see that genuine happiness on her father’s face. She stood beside her place at the table with her hands clasped neatly in front of her while they exchanged greetings. It had been too long since Noct had come home for dinner. It had been too long since he had seen their father at all. It was worth what little trouble she had put into dragging Noct back with her.

 

At last their father released Noctis and turned toward Reina.

 

“You do bring home the best surprises for me.” He smiled, pausing as he passed her on his way to the other end of the table and kissing her cheek. “Tell me about your classes, Noct. What are you taking? Does Prompto attend with you?”

 

Dinner was served as the king took his place at the table. The conversation continued amicably, with Reina remaining reserved. After all, she saw both of them nearly every day and they saw each other so rarely. Noctis  _ did  _ give her a curious look, but ultimately didn’t bring her uncharacteristic silence up. If he noticed her eye makeup was smudged he didn’t say anything. At least, not out loud. But it was only a few minutes into dinner before her phone buzzed with a text.

 

She would have ignored it if Noctis wasn’t giving her that look—like he believed that if he  _ thought  _ words hard enough she would hear them. She looked, unlocking her phone under the table and taking a covert glance at his text.

 

_ What happened? _

 

It was too much, she supposed, to expect he wouldn’t notice. He knew her better than he knew himself, it sometimes seemed. She responded, only half looking at her phone before hitting send.

 

_ Later. _

 

She watched him glance at his phone before committing back to the conversation.  _ How  _ he could text and talk, she had no idea. All the same, his response came through.

 

_ Meet you in your room after council. _

 

It didn’t seem to require a response, so she didn’t send one. She would tell him, because he was the only person she  _ could  _ tell. Until then, she listened to the conversation, only injecting occasionally until Noctis, apparently tired of talking about himself, redirected the course.

 

“So, Rei…” Noctis pushed vegetables around his plate, pausing to glance over his shoulder toward the door. Gladio was one of the Crownsguard who stood there. When Noctis turned back around he wore a wicked grin. “Gladio told me to tell you that his dad asked him to ask me to ask you—“

 

“Will you just ask the question?” Reina rolled her eyes, smiling in spite of herself.

 

“Did you wanna ask it, Gladio?” Noct asked, looking back at his friend. Gladio looked like he would have liked nothing better than to throttle the young prince—and nothing less than to ask whatever it was they supposedly wanted to ask her.

 

“No? I guess not.” Noctis sat back in his chair again, still smirking. Reina guessed he had timed this to ask while Gladio was in the room on purpose, just to annoy him. “It’s not even that weird. Dunno why you’re afraid of her. It’s not like she’s a wyvern or anything.”

 

“Are you going to tell me what the question is?” Reina asked, exasperated.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Noctis flapped a hand at her, taking a bite of his fish for dramatic pause. “Clarus says that you and Dad have a language of nonverbal signals to communicate during meetings and court.”

 

Reina blinked at him. They did, of sorts, but she wasn’t sure why Clarus knew that. All the same, it wasn’t a question. 

 

“Yeah, I guess we do,” Reina’s eyes flicked toward their father, who inclined his head, “So…?”

 

“ _ So _ , apparently he’s figured out most of them—like when Dad tells you to deal with something so it looks like you just  _ know  _ when something is your responsibility.”

 

Reina nodded vaguely, wondering when he would get to the point. That sign was just two taps against her hand or knee; it, and others, had come about more or less on accident with a sort of unspoken agreement. She hadn’t really thought about it until then. 

 

“But he says he  _ can’t  _ figure out what signal Dad uses to tell you to end the council meeting so he doesn’t have to.”

 

Reina’s brow furrowed. Clarus didn’t have better things to do in council than watch to see if the king was giving her some sort of subtle sign that he was tired and she should call an end to things?

 

“There is none.” 

 

Reina opened her mouth to say the words, but there seemed to be an echo. She glanced at her father and her lips twisted in a smile. 

 

“So she just guesses?” Noctis asked. “That is the  _ worst  _ conclusion to this story—sorry Gladio.”

 

“No, no—she  _ is  _ always correct,” said the king, lifting a hand to quiet his son, though his eyes remained on Reina, a curious look on his face. “How  _ do  _ you know?”

 

“I just pay attention,” Reina said with a shrug.

 

“Clarus says she does it even when he can’t tell there’s anything wrong, so… I say she’s psychic,” Noct said.

 

Reina rolled her eyes, though she was smiling. “Psychic it must be. A much better conclusion, don’t you agree, Gladio?”

 

Gladio, who still stood resolutely by the door, was looking like he was trying his hardest  _ not  _ to be a part of the conversation. Reina surmised that Gladio had asked Noct under the assumption that Noct wouldn’t say where the question had come from. More fool he.

 

“Tell us,” Noctis whined.

 

“I  _ had  _ liked to believe that I gave no outward signs of fatigue,” the king stated, fixing Reina with his searching gaze.

 

“Well if I  _ tell  _ you then you’ll be conscious of them and stop,” Reina reasoned with a mischievous smile.

 

“Tell us anyway,” Noctis drawled.

 

“I will do my best not to interfere,” the king promised.

 

Reina shrugged, still smiling, “Well, I sit on the arm of your chair and you shift a little closer to me when you’re ready to leave. If i put my hand on your back you let out a breath—like you let yourself relax just an inch at the comfort.”

 

“Gods all—she  _ is  _ psychic. No one pays that much attention to another person,” Noctis said, pointing his fork at Reina.

 

She shot him a grin, but couldn’t quite look away from her father, who fixed her with a peculiar look. It was thoughtful, but not irked—there was a little smile on his lips instead. At last he broke the gaze and Reina blinked, suddenly able to look away.

 

“There you have it, Gladio,” Reina said. “The solution to your father’s mystery. But perhaps you should tell him I’m just psychic so he doesn’t think I’m common.”

 

Gladio  _ did  _ crack a smile at that—the first indication that he was actually listening all night, in spite of Noctis’ attempts to include him in the conversation.

 

Once they were through interrogating Reina—and teasing Gladio—dinner resumed as usual. It was comfortable enough; Reina dwelled less on what had happened before dinner, though she still wondered at that pensive look her father had given her when she explained how she could tell he was tired. There was little chance to ask him. They visited with Noctis until there was hardly time to make it to the council chamber on time. Luckily, the council was unlikely to start without them and, after a hurried trip across the Citadel, all fourteen people settled down for a long evening.

 

Nothing of particular note happened but Reina applied herself to it all the same, clearing her mind of distracting thoughts about her father and of Noctis waiting for her. The hours slipped by one by one until the clock above the entrance read a quarter past ten. It was later than they usually ran—later than Reina usually allowed them to run, which was something of a surprise, given how tired the king had looked that afternoon. Of course, that  _ had  _ been before her unwelcome stunt and since then he had seemed in considerably better health.

 

The king changed positions in his chair, as if restless. Reina registered it subconsciously, but didn’t take any particular note. Not, leastways, until she felt his weight shift to lean partially on the arm that rested across her lap. He still sat upright, but the line of his torso leaned ever so slightly toward the side of the chair that she occupied. She smoothed her hand over his shoulders and down his back; she didn’t need to watch him to feel the response of his muscles relaxing beneath her fingers or to hear the quiet breath he released. It was just as he reacted every night. Usually, however, he didn’t stop quite suddenly and look up at her as if he had just realized what he had done.

 

Reina glanced sideways at him, raising an eyebrow. The look on his face said he was fighting not to smile. At last he inclined his head in ascent.

 

The council meeting concluded.

 

They walked upstairs with Reina on the king’s arm. After a few quiet moments, he spoke.

 

“You astound me, my dear.”

 

Reina raised her eyebrows at him. “Why?”

 

He looked down at her, smiling. “Here I believed I had perfect control… and you note things about me that I had not seen myself until you pointed them out.”

 

“That’s not amazing; most people don’t notice half the things they do. It’s easier to see from the outside.”

 

“Not even Clarus noticed,” he reminded her.

 

“But he’s not sitting right next to you.”

 

He shook his head, giving up a lost cause. They reached Reina’s room and stopped outside the door.

 

“Reina…” Her father turned toward her, tucking his cane under one arm so he could cover her hand—the one that she had on his arm—with his. “I must apologize. My reaction today was uncalled for, not even in anger. Will you forgive me?”

 

He didn’t have to say what reaction he was talking about. 

 

“Of course, Father,” Reina said, her voice soft as she dropped her gaze. She wasn’t likely to forget anytime soon, but she could understand why he had done it—and why he had been afraid.

 

He caught her chin in his hand and turned her face back up to meet his gaze. There was warmth on his face—no more of that anger that she feared—but concern, as well. “Will you come keep me company?”

 

It was a request that she had never in her life turned down. There he was, concerned that she was upset because of him, and Noctis was waiting for her to tell him what was going on.

 

“Oh, but… Noct is waiting for me,” she gestured to the door behind her. “He wanted to talk.”

 

She didn’t say that their talk, by necessity, didn’t include their father; the mere fact that she hadn’t simply suggested bringing Noctis along said as much. She winced inwardly as surprise, then disappointment, showed on her father’s face. Usually he would have understood that there were simply a few talks that he wasn’t privy to—children couldn’t share everything with their parents, after all—but after the afternoon’s events, Reina was certain he would guess the subject matter.

 

“Oh, I see…” He hastened to fill the silence. “Then I shall not keep you from him.”

 

He released her, put his cane back to the floor, and took a reluctant step backward. “Goodnight, my dear.”

 

“Goodnight, Father,” Reina said, feeling terribly guilty.

 

She watched him turn to leave, then turn back around before she had hardly put her hand on the door.

 

“Reina?”

 

“Yes, Father?”

 

“I  _ am  _ sorry. I understand what it means to you to be able to help, and I  _ do  _ appreciate all you have done. More than words can express.”

 

Reina gave him a little smile; he wasn’t making her guilt any more manageable, but he was being uncharacteristically frank. It was sweet. 

 

“I know, Father. It’s alright.” She rested her hand on the door handle, watching the king linger and hesitate in the hall. “I love you just as much as ever; there is nothing to forgive.”

 

_ I just need to talk to Noctis and bleed it out. _

 

“Goodnight, Father,” Reina repeated.

 

“Of course. Goodnight.”

 

This time he  _ did  _ go. Reina slipped into her own room, shut the door, and leaned back against it with a sigh. 

 

“Great day, huh?” 

 

Noctis was lounging on her bed. He had his  _ boots  _ on her  _ bed _ . She didn’t even care enough to scold him. She just looked at him, feeling her eyes burn as the tears she thought she had already shed gathered. Noctis patted the bed beside him, as if it wasn’t her own bed. All the same, she took the invitation and threw herself down beside him, wrapping her arms around her brother’s neck and burying her face against his collarbone.

 

They stayed there for some time. At first Noctis didn’t speak; he just let her cry silently into his shirt. When she had settled enough to breathe,  _ then  _ he spoke.

 

“What happened?”

 

She told him. She told him everything from when they had parted that afternoon: how tired the king had been in court, how elated she had felt at succeeding in something she wasn’t even sure was possible—that thing that she had been  _ wishing  _ was possible for  _ months _ , now—and how she had been chastised for it more severely than she could ever remember having been scolded by him.

 

Noctis listened to everything. When she was through he just hugged her. He didn’t try to justify what had happened in either direction; he didn’t remind her that their father had just been afraid. She was grateful for that; she knew all those things and  _ he  _ knew they wouldn’t help. What helped was saying it out loud. Just laying there, knowing he understood. 

 

So they just stayed there. Reina was lulled by her twin’s steady breathing, wrapped in comfortable silence and his fresh minty scent. It was several minutes before she spoke again.

 

“Worse, still, he’s afraid that he has somehow ruined things between us. You should have seen the look on his face when I said I wouldn’t sit with him, tonight. I feel like I kicked a puppy.”

 

Noctis snorted.

 

Reina glared at him. 

 

“Sorry, but Dad as a puppy is just not a comparison that should ever be made,” he said. Reina continued to glare at him. “Go take a shower. We’ll fix it.”

 

She crinkled her nose at him. “How is taking a shower going to fix things?”

 

“It’ll fix you smelling bad, for one. If you keep making that face it’s going to be stuck like that forever. Seriously, though. Go. Trust me,  _ dear sister _ .”

 

Reina sighed but went to do as he said, in the vain hope that melting her skin off would fix that guilty lump in her stomach. It didn’t—but she  _ did  _ feel a little bit less like she had smeared makeup all over her face, which was a plus. She toweled her hair off and pulled on a soft tank top and shorts. Noctis was still on her bed. He sat up when she re-entered the room.

 

“Great. Now you don’t look like a raccoon.” He stood. Reina opened her mouth to make a snide remark, but he grabbed her shoulders and steered her toward the door. “Let’s go!”

 

“Noctis!” Reina objected as he pushed her into the hallway. “Where are we going?! It’s nearly midnight.”

 

“There’s only one place to go when it’s nearly midnight,” Noctis said. “Unless you want to get Ignis in trouble. Did you want to take Chika? Is Chika still alive?”

 

His reference to childhood nights spent sneaking out of their room while Ignis trailed after him streaming objections, along with the comment about her stuffed chocobo, drew a smile from her.

 

“Chika has retired to a quiet life of getting fat on gysahl greens. She doesn’t do adventures anymore.” This was mostly because Reina was afraid her head would fall off again.

 

“Suit yourself.” 

 

He steered her down the hall, to the only other room with guards standing outside.

 

“That’s Dad’s room!”

 

“No,  _ really?  _ Shh, quiet. You want to ruin everything?” Noctis hissed at her as the guards bobbed and murmured ‘Your Highnesses.’

 

He opened the door and pushed her inside, following after. It was dark in their father’s room; Reina paused to let her eyes adjust and Noctis knocked into her, whispering swears. Reina clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, then his—after some fumbling in the dark—to shut him up.

 

“He’s going to wash your mouth out with soap,” Reina whispered.

 

Noctis pulled her hand away from his mouth. “Shut up.”

 

“You shut up!”

 

Her eyes had adjusted just enough so that she could see the glare he gave her. He opened his mouth to tell her to shut up and she lifted a finger to her lips. Repeatedly telling the other to shut up was not doing anyone any good. Luckily, Noctis seemed to recognize this, as well. He shut up.

 

They crept into the adjacent room together. Miraculously, their whispered argument had  _ not  _ woken the king. He remained, as far as they could tell, asleep—though they froze when he shifted. Thinking of how ridiculous the whole situation was, Reina had to fight back another fit of giggles. They hadn’t snuck into their father’s room in ten years, and even then it had been a pointless endeavor—he always welcomed them. Why were they sneaking, anyway?

 

Reina was just beginning to think how terrible they must have been at sneaking at eight—surely their father only ever _pretended_ to be surprised—when Noctis gave a short yelp behind her. She had no time to tell him to shut up, or even to find out why he had made a noise in the first place, because the next second he crashed into her from behind. They tumbled forward, landing in a heap on the tile floor. Reina groaned. Bad enough that she landed on the hard floor, but Noctis had also landed on top of her.

 

“What is  _ wrong  _ with you?” Reina cried, forgetting their need for secrecy. There wasn’t any point, anymore, anyway.

 

The lights turned on. The king sat up, pushing grey hair from his face and casting about as if he expected to find more guests from the empire in his room. Instead he found only his children in a tangled mess on his floor.

 

“What—?“

 

“I tripped!” Noctis groaned.

 

“You couldn’t have tied your shoes  _ before  _ we came in? Ugh. Get off.” Reina gave her brother a shove and a pointed elbow in the ribs, just for good measure. Noctis rolled off, freeing her to sit up. She looked up at the king, who was still watching them with a bemused expression. The way his mouth hung open but no words came out seemed to imply that he couldn’t think of a single question to ask that would get to the root of things.

 

“We were  _ trying  _ to sneak in,” Reina answered the unspoken question, shooting a glare at Noctis before smiling shyly up at their father. She picked herself up off the floor, dusted herself off, and casually crossed to her father’s bed. Then she dove onto it, landing half across the king and half buried in the pillows. 

 

“We were going to surprise you, but  _ your son _ is terribly uncoordinated,” Reina grumbled, fighting her way through pillows to throw her arms around her father.

 

“Shut up,” Noctis scowled, brushing himself off.

 

The king laughed, amusement having apparently overcome the confusion. “Well consider me surprised, all the same.”

 

He laid back down, letting Reina snuggle up against him; Noctis walked to the other side of the bed, put his knee down, and dropped on his stomach with his arm flung over the pair of them.

 

“And here I thought you were weary of my company,” their father mused.

 

“Of course not.” Reina shoved Noctis off and shifted up to hit the lights. When it was dark once more she settled back down into the confusing nest of limbs that had taken over her father’s bed. “I told you; we just wanted to talk.”

 

“Kid stuff,” Noctis confirmed.

 

“Yeah, you know. Kid stuff,” Reina agreed. “Video games…”

 

“Reina’s boyfriend.”

 

Reina opened her mouth to object that she didn’t have one, but Noctis jabbed her in the ribs. If there was one thing their father didn’t want to know about, it was whether or not his children were getting up to the more unsavory—albeit usual—teenage activities. She went along.

 

“Sex,” Reina said bluntly.

 

“Alright,  _ alright _ ,” the king hastened to stop the flow of information. “Say no more.  _ Please _ .”

 

Reina grinned at her twin in the dark. 

 

“I am glad to have you both, all the same,” their father said after a moment. Reina felt his cheek settle against the top of her head; his beard bristled against her forehead but she didn’t move. There was nowhere she would have rathered be than sandwiched between her two favorite people in the world.


	28. Mr Hammerproof Thickskull

######  _ 5 - 19 June, 756: _

_ (One month after) _

 

In the morning they left for Caem with Iris in toe. Fitting six people in a car that was, arguable, built for only four was a considerable accomplishment. They managed with frequent stops and a great deal of fussing by Noct’s friends: yes, her butt was numb from sitting on the center console between Ignis and Prompto; no, that was not a good reason to extend the trip by pulling over yet again. Ignis apologized every time he bumped her with his elbow; Prompto squeezed as close to his door as he could and occasionally shot wary looks toward Noct as if concerned the prince might chastise him just for being too close.

 

On the way they picked up the fifth royal arm, sniffed out from rumors about the Malmalam Thicket. It went about as expected with Noctis and his friends carrying the fight and Reina often pushed to the sidelines with Iris. She thought about what Ignis had said—that all her training must have counted for something—and she did  _ try  _ to wield her naginata as if it felt natural in her hands once more. But each step she second guessed until she was too nervous to be of any use at all.

 

Caem, when they reached it, held very little, save a lighthouse and what remained of the Crownsguard. A brief conference decided that the king’s old boat could be used to cross to Altissa; Reina’s stomach still lurched unpleasantly whenever anyone brought up her father, but she stuffed that pain away with the rest of it. 

 

Father’s boat was beautiful. Reina trailed her fingers over the smooth white of the hull while Cid talked about the work that needed to be done. It was stupid to think she was closer to her father just by being with anything he had once owned, but she thought it anyway. If she sat in the Regalia or stood on the deck of his boat then they were only separated by time. Never mind that time wasn’t something she could cross to reach him.

 

Repairs for the boat sent them on another errand to acquire mythril. It put them face to face with the Imperial Chancellor once more and Reina succeeded in not trying to cut his head off. They returned with the mythril and left Cid to his repairs while they followed up new rumors about tombs. The Mace of the Fierce, number six, they found found on top the Rock of Ravatogh. The seventh they found quite on accident while looking for gemstones. A tip from the Crownsguard led them into Balouve Mines and the Bow of the Clever, while the ninth took them two days of muddling through an old ruin crawling with daemons to retrieve. They saved the best for last and picked up the tenth in the most uneventful expedition they had been on in the past month; there weren’t even any monsters guarding it.

 

Input from the Crownsguard suggested that there was one more tomb not even in Lucis—they made plans to pick it up after finding Luna in Altissa and meeting Leviathan. That would expand Noctis’ armory to eleven arms. Another was with Luna—the Oracle. And the last…

 

The last was their father’s glaive. The most important of all the blades Noctis would collect. He had no tomb—they didn’t even have a body to bury—and as far as they knew, his blade was still in Insomnia. But talk among the people suggested something else. Ravus Nox Fleuret with a sword he didn’t use. 

 

Reina’s skin crawled to think of the Imperial High Commander with his hands on their father’s sword. Indeed, Reina’s skin crawled to think of the cold-eyed man who had once been her friend at all. It was still difficult to believe that Ravus and that man they had met were one and the same, but if the sweet boy she had once known was gone, then she certainly didn’t want his replacement to have her father’s glaive. They would just have to get it back from him.

 

It was nearly two weeks later when the road-weary crew stumbled into Hammerhead for some well-deserved rest. 

 

“Real beds,” Noctis sighed as they poured out of the Regalia and onto the pavement, each one stretching stiff limbs.

 

“Woohoo! Bath time!” Prompto, Reina thought, was not nearly as tired as he ought to have been.

 

She stood by the car, not moving as the other four filed into the caravan. Her mind wandered, not settling on soft beds or hot showers, but the date.

 

June seventeenth.

 

It was one month since their father had died. It still hurt just to think those words. 

 

Reina chewed her lip and turned toward the opposite side of Hammerhead. One month since they had last pulled into Hammerhead, numb with shock and denial. One month since Noctis had pulled her back from the cliff’s edge as she made one last, desperate bid to be with her father. One month since she had piled stones in a sad excuse for a memorial of the greatest king of Lucis.

 

The stones were still there; they weren’t the only thing, though.

 

The little pile of stones had attracted more offerings than her necklace and Noctis’ keychain. A vase with flowers, not more than two days old, sat before the pile. Someone else had placed an old photograph—the king in his youth, along with his friends. There were trinkets set carefully among the rocks; a signet ring, an old coin, a tiny figurine of cactuar. Leaning against the memorial was an old hammer with writing etched into the handle.

 

Reina dropped to her knees in the dirt. She didn’t fight hard against the tears that formed. She spent most of her time these days feeling cold and numb inside—even tears were a welcome change. And these ones weren’t even all bad. In the outlands it was hard to tell if anyone even knew there had been a king. But here was proof that some, at least, did. 

 

She picked up the photograph, studying the faces preserved in it. There was her father, younger than she had ever seen him, handsome and proud as ever. There was Cid, looking considerably less cranky in his youth, and Cor in the background—he looked the same. The fourth was a man she had never met, but she guessed at his identity from stories: Weskham Armaugh. 

 

Her eyes lingered longest on her father’s face; it must have been taken before he was even king. Somehow she couldn’t ever imagine such a person as Prince Regis, but there he was without even a beard. 

 

She replaced the photograph where she had found it. She had pictures of her father still saved on her phone: stupid pictures of him and Noctis and herself making silly faces; cute pictures of Noct and Father when they weren’t paying attention; sweet and spontaneous selfies of him and her dating back for a few years—she had kept her favorites on the phone, but everything else was left in Insomnia, lost, now, forever. In any case, pictures were no substitute for the real thing.

 

The hammer drew her eyes next; it seemed such an odd thing to leave for a king. She leaned forward and ran her fingers over the handle before picking it up.

 

“Paw-Paw left that for ‘im.”

 

Startled, Reina looked up to find Cindy standing beside her. She hadn’t even heard the other girl approach.

 

“Said the king was always takin’ it from ‘im. Guess yer dad carved ‘some nonsense’ into the handle and Paw-Paw didn’t want it anymore—thought maybe the king’d like to have it back.”

 

Reina dropped her eyes to the words carved into the hammer. In thick, block lettering it read:  _ Property of Mr. Hammerproof Thickskull. _

 

She blinked at it, surprised, and ran her fingers over the etched words as if she wasn’t sure they were real. It didn’t seem at all like something her father would have written—or even thought. He had a silly, mischievous streak that came out when no one but family and close friends were around, but even then there was always something upright and dignified about him. It was hard to forget he was the king. She tried to imagine her father, as she knew him, addressing Cid as ‘Mr Hammerproof Thickskull.’

 

She laughed. 

 

Not a short, strangled laugh tinged with tears as all those that Noctis had drawn from her for the past month had been. A true laugh, startled at first, then cathartic and foreign.

 

She laughed until the tears on her cheeks were tears of laughter, until her stomach ached from the effort and her head felt light. She laughed until she could hardly hold herself upright, but she held the hammer to her chest all the same. She laughed until the unfamiliar sound drew her brother from across the lot, and even then she couldn’t stop.

 

“Dunno what you said, Cindy, but… thanks, I guess,” Noctis looked from Reina to Cindy and back again. Reina struggled to breathe long enough to get coherent words out. But just as soon as she had taken a full breath again, the words jumped back into her mind.

 

_ Mr Hammerproof Thickskull _ .

 

Reina threw a hand out to keep herself from tipping over and giggled helplessly.

 

“I didn’t even say nothing! But… y’all deserve a laugh. Mighty glad to see it.” She shot Noctis an award-winning smile before leaving him to sort his twin out.

 

Noct dropped to his knees next to her, looking torn between amusement and confusion. “Hey. Did you finally crack? What’s so funny?”

 

Reina gasped for air and clutched at her aching abdomen. “Dad… ehe… Dad called Cid… hehe…  _ Mr Hammerproof Thickskull!” _

 

It was all she could manage to hand the hammer to him before she dissolved into another fit of giggles. Noct’s brow furrowed as he looked at the hammer. 

 

“Dad wrote that?”

 

“Yes!” Reina laughed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Can’t you just… hehe…  _ see  _ it?”

 

Noctis gave her a quizzical look. “No.”

 

“ _ That’s the point!! _ ”

 

Noctis looked at his sister, beginning to fear that she had, in all honesty, gone off the deep end. Too much stress. She had lived through a lot of trauma. But sitting there in the dirt, watching her laugh like her life depended on it over something their father—in his youth—had carved into Cid’s hammer brought a smile to his face all the same. It wasn’t even funny. Or, if it was, it was only funny in a mildly amusing sort of way—the sort of way that earned a ‘heh’ at the most, and certainly not unending fits of giggles. But there she was, laughing like a madwoman. 

 

Noctis laughed.

 

He laughed because she was laughing. He laughed because it was  _ ridiculous,  _ because it wasn’t funny and she thought it was. He laughed because her face was bright red and she kept trying so hard to stop. 

 

“Owww, it hurts!” Reina cried between bouts of laughter, clutching her stomach.

 

It only made Noct laugh harder. She tipped sideways into him and they tumbled over together, both laughing.

 

“This is  _ so stupid _ ,” Noct chortled.

 

Reina, alternating between howling laughter and whines of discomfort, couldn’t respond. 

 

When was the last time they had laughed together? Really  _ laughed _ ? When was the last time they had laughed  _ so hard _ ? Noctis’ body ached from it, his lungs screamed for air, but every time he thought he could stop, Reina would give one more giggle and they would both lose all semblance of control again.

 

It was hard to say how long they lay there in the dirt, holding onto each other and crying tears of laughter, each one feeding off the other’s amusement. They didn’t notice that Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto had all paused by the fence to watch them and exchange bemused looks. If they had, they wouldn’t have been able to explain themselves. Noct couldn’t even explain what was funny to himself.

 

Giggles faded into desperate gasps for air. They both calmed, rubbing tears from their cheeks. 

 

“Mr Hammerproof Thickskull,” Noctis said.

 

Reina snorted.

 

“Ow, stop! Gods, everything  _ hurts _ .” She rolled over, punching him weakly and laughing once more.

 

Noctis laughed at her: how she couldn’t stop laughing but every laugh was painful. Somehow it was only funnier that he was doing the same thing to himself.

 

When they quieted once more, Reina put her hand over his mouth. “Don’t. Say.  _ Anything _ .”

 

Noctis grinned beneath her hand. He gave a short laugh, but was too exhausted and dizzy to do anything else. 

 

Reina swore, rubbing her hands over her stomach. “Let’s not do that again.”

 

“Let’s do that  _ all the time _ ,” Noctis said, still trying to catch his breath. 

 

She tried to glare at him, but it came out a grin.

 

“I can start it whenever. All I have to say is—“

 

“ _ Don’t! _ ” Reina punched him. Noctis laughed and rolled away from her. He climbed to his feet through the intermediate step of hands and knees. His black clothes had turned brown.

 

“If you two are completely finished with… whatever just happened… dinner is ready.” 

 

Noctis leaned over, hands on his knees, but he managed to look up at Ignis. He waved a hand in their direction.

 

“Right. Yeah. Dinner.” With some effort he straightened and held his hand out to Reina. She replaced the hammer beside the memorial before accepting his help up. 

 

“And I thought… fighting daemons was a workout,” Reina groaned. Noct draped his arm around her shoulders and steered her back toward the caravan.

 

“Couple more days like this and you’ll have abs like Gladio’s,” Noct informed her, smacking her already sore abdomen. 

 

“Ow!” Reina jabbed him in return. “Keep that up and I’m going to find out if  _ your  _ thickskull is… hehe… hammerproof.”

 

“Please don’t start this again,” Ignis sighed. 

 

Noctis caught Reina’s eye. He watched the smile fight its way across her face. Noctis laughed. She laughed. They held to each other for support and somehow remained upright. Neither one was ever going to get through dinner.


	29. Time Again

######  _ 21 June, 756: _

_ (One month after) _

 

The crystal had a life and soul all of its own. It spoke only to the King of Lucis, but Reina knew its voice with uncomfortable familiarity. She would never forget the booming tones—the words resounding as if they came from within her own head, rather than some external source. At fourteen she had heard it name her brother as its Chosen, though that had happened nine years before. And that night, holed up in a repurposed shack in Caem, she heard that voice once more.

  
  


######  _ Spring, 756: _

_ (Three months before) _

 

There were different sorts of dreams. Some were indistinguishable from life; dreams in which she saw through her own eyes, she acted and interacted, just as if she was really there. In a way, she  _ was  _ there, it just hadn’t happened, yet. Those were the most disorienting. She could fall asleep one night and wake the following morning, live through horrors and tragedy, only to wake again and find that none of it had yet happened even though it  _ had _ very clearly occurred for her. Usually they were short, but once or twice she had woken to discover that whole weeks of her life had never happened. 

 

Then there were the others. The ones that took her to places she had never been at times she had never been in them. Dreams where she became unstuck in time and drifted at the whims of the Gods to observe people and places and events like some ghost floating through memories. 

 

The crystal hung in the center of the Citadel, protected by the very technology it helped to create. From there it projected the Wall—covering all of Insomnia in a shroud that had yet to be penetrated. The room was guarded night and day by the Crownsguard, but the only person permitted to enter was the king. The only living person who knew precisely what lay beyond the doors, besides King Regis, was his daughter, though she had never been inside.

 

Time was a peculiar thing. Reina crossed it in her dreams as another person might cross a room. Or, more accurately, she was drawn through it as if caught up in a current too strong to fight. The dreams took her where they would and she had no choice in the matter. 

 

On that day in late spring—there were blossoms falling from the trees in the courtyard below, visible through the sweeping corridor windows—Reina hadn’t stood beside her father outside of the Crystal Chamber. But she did now; it was so sharp and real that she forgot about time. She opened her eyes to see the doors swing open for them—for  _ him _ . The king stood beside her, just as he should have been. If she had been cognizant of it, she could have placed the exact year just by looking at him. But she wasn’t thinking about that. She was feeling that warmth of seeing him again—because it wasn’t a dream, not really—it was real. A time and a place and an event that had actually happened. She was looking at her father, real and  _ alive _ , just at a different time.

 

“Father.” Her lips formed the word but no sound came out. 

 

His steps faltered just inside the door and she reached out to take his arm automatically, after so many years of doing it. But she couldn’t reach him, couldn’t touch him. She had no hands, nor arms. If she’d had eyes, they might have clouded at the realization that she had to watch her father limp—even with the aid of his cane—without being able to do anything for him. But she didn’t have eyes, either. She was consciousness without a body. 

 

He was real. She wasn’t.

 

The doors closed behind him with a certain finality. He didn’t look back; his gaze fixed on the massive geode hanging in the middle of the room. It was larger than a single person—larger than the king, and certainly would have been larger than Reina, if her body had been there. Light shone from within, not reflected but generated, and there was a  _ life  _ about it, as if the whole stone pulsed and breathed.

 

“Lucis burns. We are scorched on our borders; our people die. How long will you wait?” In spite of the stutter in his step, the king’s voice held strong and true: confident and commanding.

 

_ :Human kingdoms and lifetimes do not concern me.:  _ The voice was not a physical thing; less a vibration in air and more a ripple in knowledge.

 

“That you have no regard for human life is clear enough.” There was a bitter note in his voice when he spoke again. Reina knew without guessing that he was thinking about Noctis’ life.

 

_ :He is not ready.: _

 

“He  _ will  _ take up my mantle. He will be what you need him to be.” The conviction was evident without seeing it on the king’s face as well, but Reina didn’t need either to understand how much her father believed in Noct. 

 

_ :Not yet. The Chosen must take up all the power of his line, distilled from his forefathers—stored—and passed on to him. But there is one more life that must feed his power before Ascension can begin.: _

 

Wherever—or whenever—her stomach was, it lurched uncomfortably. The Astrals seemed to have a bad habit of never speaking plainly, but she could gather the meaning of the crystal’s words this time, even without looking at her father. She looked anyway.

 

He sighed, shutting his eyes and hanging his head forward. His weight rested a little more heavily upon his cane. 

 

“I have been prepared to give my life in defense of this kingdom for many years. I will give it for Noctis more readily still.”

 

“No! Father—you can’t!” Reina shouted—or tried to, at the very least. If she made any sound, the king never heard it. 

 

Everyone always spoke about his death like it was an inevitability, but in the solitude of nighttime Reina had allowed herself to dream. She could transfer energy to her father, exchange her lifeforce for his. He hated it, but maybe, just  _ maybe _ … she  _ could  _ share the burden of the ring, at least in some sense. And with her help, he might have lasted, even if Niflheim persisted. Selfishly, a part of her had hoped that even if Noctis was destined to leave her behind, she would be left behind along with her father. 

 

Now that hope was gone, as well. Her conscious mind, tangled up in time and memories, forgot that it was already too late, that this was years in the past, that her father had  _ already  _ left her behind. It wasn’t a dream—it was real life, and she was there, experiencing it at that moment. Time meant something different in dreams.

 

_ :You must, if ever he is to succeed.:  _ The booming not-voice broke through Reina’s rising panic, but did nothing to calm it.

 

“He will,” the king said, more to himself than anyone else. He turned, moving unsteadily away from the crystal; Reina followed, but time was falling away again. The world dripped and blurred together. Time passed, seasons changed. When the current stopped and spat Reina out on the shore, choking and gasping, it was a time she had been before, an event she had witnessed time and time again.

 

######  _ 17 May, 756: _

(The day)

 

“No… No, no,  _ no! _ ” she screamed it as if the words would stop the inevitable. 

 

She watched lightning arc from the king’s hand and strike the towering Niflheim general in his magitek armor. She watched Glauca crash against the wall, which showered stone.

 

“Father,  _ please!  _ Go!” 

 

But he couldn’t. He had to die because if he didn’t, Noctis would never be able to fulfill his destiny.

 

The general recovered and this time when the king threw lightning, it struck his blade—absorbing and grounding rather than shocking. 

 

“No…!” Reina cried. She couldn’t move, couldn’t stop watching, couldn’t stop  _ anything _ .

 

Glauca thrust forward, the king’s magic rebounded, striking the wall instead and throwing him off balance. He had no cane and no daughter to catch him or shield him. And she would have. If her body could have stopped the horrible descent of that blade, she would have thrown herself in front of it. But she didn’t have a body, and even if she had it would all have been for naught.

 

The oversized blade thrust straight through her father. Reina was screaming wordlessly; she couldn’t find a single word anymore—there was only terror and horror, that awful pain of loss all over again. 

 

“Father!!  _ No! _ ”

 

**Reina.** A familiar voice crossed time and space to reach her. Reina’s breath caught in her throat.  **Look at me, Reina. Just me, nothing else.** **_See me._ **

 

“Father..?”

  
  


######  _ 21 June, 756: _

_ (One month after) _

 

Cid had called while they were in Hammerhead to announce that the ship was ready to sail for Altissa, so they made for Caem. It had been a cheerful enough evening; Iris and Talcott were eager to show them around, and Reina’s good humor from Hammerhead seemed to persist. She wasn’t really her old self, still, but at least she didn’t look so empty. That stupid hammer had really done something for her.

 

They retired for the night a little bit later than was probably wise, considering the hour at which they were supposed to leave in the morning. Reina had ended up sharing a room with Iris while Noct and the others slept in the adjacent room. It was as nice of a night as he could have hoped for. No tent, soft beds, minimal monster battling during the day, and good company. It might have gone on being a good night all the way until morning. But it didn’t.

 

It had been a very long time since Noctis had been awoken in the middle of the night by one of Reina’s nightmares. Nearly four years since they had shared a bedroom, and a few before that since she’d had that sort of dream.

 

His mind didn’t immediately connect the dots. He woke in a dark room; Reina’s screams were muffled by the wall between them. He was upright and stumbling out of bed before his brain caught up with his body. It seemed there was an immediate impulse to run to Reina’s side when she cried out.

 

“Noctis.” Ignis grabbed his shoulders as he headed for the door and very nearly ran into it, instead. “Reina—” 

 

“Yeah, I know.” Noct pulled away from him and lurched out through the door, finally finding his balance. In the room next door he found Reina still abed, thrashing and tangling herself in her blankets. Iris stood nearby, wide-eyed. She looked up when the door opened.

 

“I can’t wake her,” Iris said, eyes bright with unshed tears as she held back her own fear. “I-I  _ tried _ .”

 

For the first time the reality of the situation settled into Noctis’ mind. Maybe it was because he had woken up a little more, or maybe it was actually seeing Reina in the throes of a nightmare. Maybe it was the fact that seeing Iris like that reminded him more than a little of himself, years ago. The fact was that _he_ never could wake her, either. Every time she screamed, trapped in a dream she couldn’t escape, it had been their father who had come to the rescue. Noctis had been helpless—worthless. Only Dad could wake her. So what happened, now that he was gone?

 

Noctis ground his teeth together and stepped forward, fighting back doubt. If he couldn’t then no one left alive could, and he didn’t want to think what it meant for his sister. 

 

He sat on the edge of her bed, eyes focused only on Reina, and reached out to take her shoulders as he called to her, just as he had watched their father do countless times when they were young.

 

“ _ Reina _ .” He put as much command into that one word as he could muster. He wasn’t asking for her attention, he was demanding it. She didn’t punch him in the nose; she stilled under his hands as he gripped her. His mouth formed the words that their father had always said: “Look at me, Reina. Just me, nothing else.  _ See me. _ ”

 

Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused. “Father…?”

 

Any elation Noctis might have felt at success—at having finally done what only one other person had ever done before—was crushed by her first word. It was  _ always _ their father who woke her. Noct had used his voice, his words. And for a brief, fleeting moment he had given her that terrible hope again. He wished more than anything that he could have followed the next part of the script.

 

_ Just me _ .

 

He didn’t say it. He couldn’t say anything at all. Eventually Reina blinked and focused on him. The wide-eyed hope faded as reality settled back in.

 

“Noct…” She breathed, shutting her eyes and dropping her head back onto her pillow.

 

Just Noctis.

 

There were tears on her cheeks already; new ones joined them as she lay there just trying to breathe. 

 

“Your Highness? Is everything alright?”

 

Noctis turned to look over his shoulder. The rest of the household was standing in the doorway or just inside. It was Monica who spoke.

 

‘Alright’ wasn’t the word Noctis would have used to describe things, but at least Reina was awake. 

 

“Yeah…” He said. It occurred to him that it had been nearly eight years since the last time Reina had woken like that—most people close to the royal family had heard rumors that Reina sometimes dreamed the future, but how many people remembered what that looked like, anymore? 

 

“Sometimes she has… dreams.” Noctis said, by way of explanation. “You alright, Rei?”

 

Reina was still lying with tears streaming silently passed her shut eyelids. 

 

“Yeah,” she said, her voice hoarse. It was the sort of ‘yeah’ that was so obviously a lie that it wasn’t even worth calling out. 

 

A hesitant pause followed as those gathered at the door tried to decide whether or not to accept the lie and leave, or try to offer unwelcome help. Eventually they settled on the first. Monica quietly excused herself and left; everyone else followed one by one.

 

“Come on,” Noctis said, gripping Reina’s shoulder. “Come sleep with me.”

 

She always followed Dad to bed after those outbursts. He doubted she would sleep again, that night, but it was better than being alone, surely. 

 

Reina nodded mutely. She detangled from her blankets and they went; Noctis bid goodnight to Iris on the way out, giving her an apologetic look. In the room next door they both settled into one bed. Reina was quiet for a long time, lying with her arms wrapped around Noct’s neck, but she didn’t sleep.

 

“What did you dream..?” Noctis asked at length, his whisper somehow startlingly loud in the quiet room.

 

She didn’t answer immediately, but Noctis waited without prompting. He wondered idly if the other three people in the room were still awake and listening. It seemed likely.

 

“I watched him die,” Reina said at last; her voice was soft but it didn’t catch. Like she was so broken that not even that could draw a sob from her anymore. 

 

To think that just the day before they had laughed so hard that it hurt. 

 

Noct held her a little tighter. It was bad enough that he was dead, bad enough that she’d had to watch it. But it seemed the same vision visited her over and over, now. He couldn’t do anything but hug her and hope she could get some sleep.

 

She didn’t.


	30. Ever Onward

######  _ 21 June, 756: _

_ (One month after) _

 

The next morning they left for Altissia aboard the king’s boat, accompanied by Cid. There was much ado at their departure; even Cor had come to wish them well. Noct wasn’t sure how he felt about all the faith they placed in him, but he  _ was  _ eager to finally catch up with Luna. She would be waiting for him in Altissia, she had said. He had all but three of the royal arms and he had the blessing of two Astrals, but he didn’t really feel all that much different. If he could just reach Luna, though, things would change. She always just  _ knew  _ what to do. She was a guiding light and he needed that more than anything, now.

 

So they reached Altissia with only a brief moment of fearing that everything had been for naught. Reina didn’t say a word the entire trip. She stood at the bow and looked out at the horizon, lost in her thoughts. Noctis didn’t interrupt. He had an inkling that she hadn’t told him the entire truth when he has asked what she dreamed the previous night; whatever it had been, she evidently needed time to think about it. And she couldn’t talk to him about it, otherwise she would have. So he put it out of his mind as well as he was able and focused on the task at hand.

 

Once inside the city, Cid recommended they meet with his old friend—the name he gave was one that Noctis remembered his father having mentioned a long time ago: Weskham Armaugh. It seemed he had a bar in Altissia. Noct hadn’t had any idea. Then again, there wasn’t any reason for him to.

 

“Wow! You were right, Ignis. It is better than Gauldin.” Prompto clutched at his camera like he was afraid he would miss an important photograph if he let go of it for one second.

 

Noctis smiled and slapped him on the back. “Don’t drop your camera in the water.”

 

“I would  _ never _ ,” Prompto said with mock indignance. 

 

Noct had to admit, though, that Altissia  _ was  _ beautiful. Stone buildings with brick rooftops stood wall-to-wall with hardly any alley in between. Wide flagstone walkways led throngs of people past storefronts, open-air cafes, and carts of merchandise. Instead of roads there were waterways; instead of cars there were long boats guided by one man at the rear. They pulled two and fro, whisking people away through the man-made streams that connected a maze of buildings.

 

Noct glanced at Reina, wondering what she made of the city. Lestallum wasn’t much of a city compared to Insomnia, but Altissia was certainly stunning. It was brilliant in a different way. Perhaps it was the sort of way she could appreciate.

 

“Whatdya think?” He asked, stopping beside her.

 

“It’s pretty,” Reina admitted. “But it’s—”

 

“—not Insomnia” Noctis chorused along with her. 

 

She pulled a face at him, but he could tell she was amused.

 

They spent some time poking around—from the talk it seemed that Luna’s wedding dress was in Altissia, but no one had seen the Oracle herself. Noct hadn’t thought about the wedding-that-had-never-been in a month, but it was hard not to, standing among the crowd looking at the dress she had been planning to wear. He would have liked to have seen her in it.

 

“Well that settles it.” Gladio elbowed him in the side. “You gotta make it happen. After we tie up all the loose ends, let’s think about the ceremony.”

 

“A fine idea,” Ignis agreed.

 

How was it that they just chimed in, as if they knew what was going on in his head? And yet, the thought of  _ actually  _ getting married was more than a little terrifying. What if she didn’t even like him? What if she didn’t feel the same about him?

 

“Yeah. I’ll think about it.” Noct reverted to his usual non-committal response in the face of uncertainty. He caught Reina’s eye and she gave him a sympathetic smile; she understood.

 

Their explorations ended at Maagho, a high-end establishment in the south end of Altissia. The bar was completely open with no walls to speak of, surrounded only by water and a comfortable crowd of people. They were hardly out of the gondola before they were greeted by the man behind the bar.

 

“My word, but you’ve grown, Little Prince!” Weskham Armaugh had a soothingly deep voice—the sort that made a person want to sit at the bar for a while. Probably it was profitable that way. All the same, Noctis made a face as being called ‘Little Prince.’ Only his father had ever called him that, and it had stopped a long time ago.

 

“Ah, but of course. You were only a babe at the time,” Weskham persisted, waving them over. Noct dropped onto a bar stool; Gladio leaned against the bar beside him. Prompto had gotten distracted by a picture that  _ needed  _ to be taken, but Ignis stood, relaxed and attentive, nearby. 

 

“Oughtn’t there be two of you?” Weskham’s eyes moved between each member of the group. 

 

Noct turned around at the comment about Reina. She wasn’t behind him—though she had been, not long before. There wasn’t far for her to have gone. He spotted her near the water, standing with her arms crossed over her chest.

 

“Rei.” He called and she turned; he motioned and she came. “Don’t you want to meet Weskham?”

 

“Little Reina; there she is.”

 

Reina came to stand beside Noctis and she considered Weskham with unnecessary severity.

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said at last.

 

“And you as well—or, at least, to meet you both again, now that you’re grown. I heard a great deal about you while you were growing up—the both of you. Any word Regis sent was always word of his twins: his pride and joy.”

 

Reina looked like she wanted to object. She even opened her mouth, probably to deny it, but Prompto’s voice put a hold on the conversation.

 

“Noct! They’ve got Justice Monsters Five here!” 

 

Noct spun to see Prompto jumping up and down in front of the arcade game, tucked away in the corner of the bar, completely oblivious to anything else going on around him.

 

“Man, look at these prizes!” 

 

Gladio and Ignis looked from Prompto to Noct, as if for permission to play. He didn’t know why they would need his approval, and he gave a shrug of indifference, standing up.

 

“Yeah, go ahead.” They moved to join Prompto by the machine and Noctis glanced at Reina. “How about it?”

 

Reina waved him away, dropping into his vacant spot. “Go on, then. You’ll do much better without my help.”

 

She had never been any good at it. In fact, she had never been any good at any of the games that Noctis played. While Noct had hidden away in quiet corners to play video games in their childhood, Reina had been nearby with a book or her stuffed chocobo. And when Noctis spent countless hours at the arcade after school later on, Reina filled her spare time with responsibilities until there was no such thing as ‘free time’, anymore.

 

So she sat at the bar and watched Noctis join his friends. She had to admit, if only silently, that it was good cheer to be with them. They turned perfectly mundane events into entertaining ones. And here they were, standing in a city that was technically part of the empire on the eve of asking a third God for a blessing, and they were fighting over who got to play the first round of Justice Monsters Five. It was almost like nothing had changed.

 

“You miss him.”

 

Reina turned to look up at Weskham, her brain taking an extra second to catch up with the change in topic.

 

“Regis,” he supplied helpfully.

 

Of course. Who else?

 

“More than anything.” She dropped her gaze and sighed, resting her arms on the bar and leaning forward. 

 

She knew Weskham from her father’s stories: some of them had been silly, with daemons in Insomnia and evil octopuses trying to take over Eos, but there were a few notes that rang true. He had once been steward to King Regis, serving him in a way not unlike how Ignis did for Noctis. Knowing that he had been so close to her father—one of his closest friends, in fact, counted second only behind Clarus for many years—made the pain of loss ache with regret. What would life have been like if her father had still been alive, if she had been visiting Altissia at his side, meeting Weskham with him, instead?

 

Though, then again, Weskham had been his friend a long time ago. More recently it had been Reina who who served faithfully at his side.

 

“Father was…  the thing that made me who I was; the fuel for my heart and soul. I am adrift without him,” she admitted at length.

 

“That doesn’t sound much like the daughter he wrote about, to me,” Weskham raised his eyebrows at her.

 

“I don’t feel much like the daughter he wrote about—whatever he said. I don’t feel like much of anything.”

 

“There’s no surprise in that,” Weskham observed. “Your whole world got turned on its nose; you’re not going to be the same person, after that—but that doesn’t mean you’re nothing.”

 

Reina considered him, not sure what to make of his words. She had just learned that, no matter what she had done or could have done, her father would always have died. Maybe this wasn’t the way he would have chosen, but she couldn’t have saved him, no matter how much she lied to herself. He had done his duty; protected the crystal to the death and then given his life so Noctis could become who he needed to be. Noctis was following the path to  _ his  _ destiny—however twisting and unclear it might have seemed—and so Reina was left to determine what  _ she  _ was meant to do. 

 

For a long time she had believed she was meant to do just what she had spent four years of her life doing—taking care of the king, to the best of her ability. Now he was gone and, if the voice of the crystal was to be believed, he was meant to be. But she was there, still. Where did that leave her?  _ What  _ did it make her?

 

“I don’t know what to be, anymore,” she admitted.

 

There was a pause. When she looked up at Weskham he was studying her critically. Eventually he spoke again.

 

“Seems to me that you need to be needed. Maybe you should consider that there are other people still here who need you just as much as your father did.” He rested his palms on the bar and leaned forward. 

 

“Noctis…”

 

“He’s one, doubtless. But not the only one. Think about it, little Princess.”

 

Reina’s eyes widened at the name and she dropped her gaze. Maybe Noct could make an indignant face at that, but it reminded Reina too much of her father to be annoyed. Little Princess. Little Prince. That was how he had affectionately addressed them when they were growing up. It had stopped for Noct, perhaps because he wasn’t little anymore, but Reina was still ‘little Princess,’ sometimes. Or she had been, before… 

  
There wasn’t anything else to be said, so she didn’t. But she  _ did  _ think about his words: that she needed to be needed. She hadn’t thought about it that way before, but perhaps it was true. After all, she had always been happiest when her father needed her—when she could  _ do  _ something to help. Maybe it hadn’t been about him, or not entirely about him. Maybe it was about making herself useful. And maybe, just  _ maybe _ , she could do that even if he was gone.


	31. A Need Fulfilled

######  _ Winter - Spring, 754: _

_ (Two years before) _

 

Fall wore into winter; Reina continued taking only minimal classes at school and either the king didn’t notice or he was too tired to care. Reina would have preferred the former, but sometimes she strongly suspected the latter. Though it was torture to watch him struggle through some days, she hadn’t tried again to share her energy with him since the first attempt and she hadn’t brought it up in conversation. 

 

That didn’t mean she never thought about it. 

 

It was frustrating, feeling as if she wasn’t doing enough and couldn’t do more—worse was the feeling that she  _ could _ do more, but was forbidden to by the king himself. The only thing that stopped her was the memory of his anger. When she watched the world wear on him, feeling hopeless, she thought about it. When council meetings were cut shorter, on average, than they had been three years ago, she thought about it. When she cajoled him into going to bed a little bit early, she thought about it. 

 

Many nights, as this night, she was only successful in that endeavor because a splitting headache prevented further productiveness.

 

The king unhooked his crown from behind his ear and passed it to her before laying down. Reina set it on the table beside his bed, her eyes lingering. It seemed inconceivable that such a little bit of twisted metal could cause such trouble. Sometimes she wondered if it wouldn’t be better to cast it into the ocean, where no one would have to deal with it anymore.

 

“A penny for your thoughts.”

 

Reina blinked, pulling her eyes from the crown and looking back at her father as he spoke. She gave him a half-smile. “I was just thinking that it doesn’t look quite so heavy, just sitting there.”

 

He settled a hand on her knee, squeezing gently. 

 

“It does appear innocuous,” he agreed.

 

“I wish I could bear the weight of it for you.”

 

“My dear Reina, you carry a full half of that, these days. Perhaps more.” He raised his eyebrows at her, an earnest expression on his features. He smiled. “You might as well wear it yourself.” 

 

Reina scrunched her nose at him. “I think not, Father. I will never wear the crown and that fact sits comfortably with me.”

 

“So certain, are you?”

 

“Of course. It falls to Noctis: the King of Kings,” she said placidly. She might stand behind him with Ignis and Gladiolus, but he would be the king—hopefully in the distant future.

 

“You would make an excellent queen.” There was something peculiar about the way he said it. Or perhaps she just thought that because he seemed serious when the words should have been teasing.

 

“Nonsense,” Reina said. “You clearly need some rest before you start telling me coeurls will fly.”

 

He smiled, but didn’t argue. He just let her tuck the blankets up to his chin and kiss him goodnight.

 

Reina shut off the lights in his room, but didn’t return to her own. She sat up, taking her place in one of the armchairs in his sitting room, and absorbed herself in a textbook. There was still plenty of time to study and she had an exam the following morning. But she wasn’t about to go across the hall to do so in her own room, when there was every possibility her father might need her—or, at least, she told herself there was.

 

The king did not wake that night. Not when Reina finished her studying and curled up in bed beside him, nor when the sun rose the following morning. He didn’t wake when Reina rose and slipped away to prepare for school. But when she returned, dressed casually for her classes, it was to find him sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands.

 

“Father? What is it?” She approached, taking a seat beside him and touching his shoulder lightly.

 

“One would hope that a headache would be cured by sufficient rest. Alas, it is not the case.”

 

If she hadn’t been so concerned she might have made a quip about what constituted ‘sufficient rest,’ but her father’s face, as he looked up at her, was enough to drive away any other thoughts. He looked worn— tired like he never was so early in the day—and his brow creased with discomfort. 

 

“Father…” Reina’s lips twisted with concern as that hopeless feeling settled in her stomach. 

 

She rose and retrieved the little bottle from his bathroom, giving him two white pills and a cup of water. He took them—though he gave her a look that suggested he was doing so against his better judgement—and Reina resumed her spot beside him.

 

“It is… tiring. Inescapably tiring,” the king said.

 

His hands rose to massage his temples. Reina smoothed her fingers over his unruly hair, then over the sides of his head. His hands fell away, replaced by hers; she rubbed slow circles over the sides of his face, tracing down from his forehead to his jaw. 

 

There were a few types of headaches, Reina knew. One sort was born of tension and, given the strain the king was under, she was willing to bet this was the sort that plagued him. Day by day, she did everything that she could to reduce the strain by taking more of his responsibilities; that had yet to fix the problem. But perhaps, if she couldn’t eliminate the stress, she could fight the tension.

 

Her fingers worked until they reached the base of his skull, then traced the muscles down the back of his neck. They were strung tight like a violin; it seemed impossible that his neck moved at all. 

 

He made a sound of approval; his head tipping forward toward her. The longer she continued the further his balance slipped until his forehead hit her shoulder.

 

Reina paused, tilting her head to look at him as well as she was able.

 

“Father?”

 

His only response was a wordless “Mmm,” and a resettling of his head against her shoulder. When his face turned toward her she could see his eyes were closed and the furrow was gone from his brow. She smiled, persisting. 

 

She applied further pressure to loosen the muscles in his neck as she wondered if it was possible to apply her magic to that end. Her last unscheduled magical experimentation had earned his disapproval, but she didn’t want to transfer her energy—or even sacrifice it. She wanted to apply the same methods she always used with her scant magic, simply to a slightly different end. It was something to consider for the future. 

 

“Reina...”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Do you not have class, this morning?”

 

Her stomach lurched uncomfortably. She glanced at the clock—it was already too late for her to make it on time. How had she lost track of things so quickly? She had just come to bid him goodbye and…

 

“I can stay. It’s just class,” Reina said, knowing that he would object even as the words left her mouth.

 

He sat up and Reina’s hands dropped back to her lap. “Absolutely not. Off with you, now. Be on your way.”

 

She knew it was better not to argue with him; she would only lose and he would be slightly more irate at the end. Then all the relaxation she had worked for would be wasted. For now, at least, the look of pain and exhaustion was gone from his face; he looked considerably more like he had a good night’s sleep. If only she could have  _ stayed _ .

 

She sighed, regretful, and stood. 

 

“Of course, Father,” she murmured, demurred, as she leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”

 

She was late for her exam. If she had been anyone else, it would have gone wholly unnoticed. But when the princess walked in thirty minutes late to a test, tongues wagged. By the time Reina’s second class was through, it was all over the university.

 

“Heard you were late, this morning,” Noctis said when he caught up with her on his way to lunch.

 

Reina rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t anyone have better things to talk about?”

 

“Probably not,” Noctis said. “Why were you late?”

 

She glared at him. It was none of anyone’s business if she was late. No one cared if anyone else was late for a class, so why should they care where  _ she  _ had been? 

 

“Father needed me,” she replied curtly.

 

Noctis raised his eyebrows. “Is something wrong?”

 

“Not really. Nothing more than usual,” Reina said, shaking her head. “But he woke tired and with a headache. I didn’t want to leave him.”

 

“But you had a test!” Noctis said, as if she had forgotten.

 

She shrugged. “That doesn’t matter.”

 

Noctis blinked at her, then laughed. “I never thought I would hear you say school didn’t matter.”

 

“Everything has to be put in perspective,” she said pragmatically. “Anyway, I’ll see you later. My ride back to the Citadel is waiting.”

 

“You should get a car,” Noct called after her as she turned and walked away.

 

“ _ You _ should get a car,” she retorted over her shoulder.

 

“Nah. That’s what Ignis is for.” Noct waved.

 

Back at the Citadel, Reina changed out of her school clothes, had a quick bite to eat, and joined the king in court. He greeted her without complaint of headaches. She hoped that meant his was gone since that morning, rather than that he neglected to tell her about it. 

 

After court there were meetings for Reina and, hopefully, a somewhat quieter afternoon for her father. She checked in with him in between. As much as she wanted that time for him to rest while she took up his place, it was troubling to imagine that he might need her while she was separated from him.

 

A little voice in the back of her head chided her for such thoughts. Her father appreciated the help she gave—the responsibilities she took up for him so that he was less overburdened, and her company on quiet nights—but he never really  _ needed  _ her when she was away. He did just fine on his own. Most of the time she was merely fretting, anyway. What good did it really do anyone for her to hover and look worried when he felt unwell?

 

Each time she checked in with him that day confirmed as much. He was a little bit wane, but not unduly so, at dinner, and they both knew she wasn’t likely to help with that, so she kept to her schedule and fit in a couple hours of weapons practice after the meal. 

 

Since the previous summer, when she had picked up further duties, her trainings had to fit elsewhere. Most of her days were occupied in court, various meetings, or classes. So she practiced in the quieter nighttime hours. Sometimes she trained with Gladiolus, still, but not all the time. It had been nearly a year since the kiss they had shared, and neither had brought it up since. There had been tension, some awkwardness—as was expected—but it had faded away until their relationship was strictly professional once more.

 

That night she practiced on her own. She dedicated one hour to naginata practice and one to archery. It was too dark to shoot outside, but she practiced her draw and her aim in the long training hall with a target set at the far end. Around nine she packed up and returned to her room for a shower and another change of clothes—this time to more comfortable sleepwear.

 

It was still too early for bed, though, and Reina had developed an inability to relax without knowing how her father was faring, so she picked up some work—a school assignment that she had pushed off until the last minute—and crossed the hall to his room.

 

The king sat in an armchair with a stack papers in one hand and his forehead braced against the other. He didn’t need to look up to know it was her—she was the only one who ever entered without being announced—but he did so anyway. He looked tired. That in itself wasn’t surprising or unusual. But he looked considerably more tired than he had been two hours ago.

 

She stopped herself from scolding him. He was still awake because he felt like he needed to be and being chastised wouldn’t change anything.

 

“Headache back?” She asked, halting in front of his chair and stooping to look at him. 

 

“I fear so.”

 

She glanced at the papers he held, full of cramped, tiny writing. “If you didn’t have to read Drautos’ handwriting, I daresay it wouldn’t be.”

 

“You may be correct.” He managed a little smile at her teasing.

 

Reina smoothed his hair back and kissed his forehead, turning more serious as she looked at him again. “You could have called for me, you know.”

 

“To what end, my dear?”

 

“To reason with your less reasonable half,” she said dryly. She took hold of the papers, drawing them from his grasp and setting them aside, along with her textbook. “Come along.”

 

“Reina—I must finish reading his reports,” the king said, sounding perfectly reasonable for being unreasonable.

 

“And  _ I  _ must stop you,” she retorted, “If you are still awake when I’m through with you, then I will decipher his writing for you myself. Come on.”

 

She urged him to his feet, taking his right elbow and leaving his other hand free for his cane. He made no further protests, allowing her to steer him to his bed and sit him down. 

 

He shut his eyes against the bedroom light, betraying just how much his head troubled him, and reached for the catch at the back of his collar. His fingers fumbled; Reina released it for him and his hands dropped back to his lap. She made quick work of the buckles that held his cape in place, hardly needing to watch what she was doing as her fingers picked out the now-familiar motions. Instead she watched her father’s face, noting that little furrow on his brow again. Her fingers itched to smooth it away, but she knew she needed to attack the source, not the symptom.

 

Her idea from that morning had been percolating all day, whenever she was undistracted. She had concluded that there was no reason it shouldn’t work and, further, no reason it should upset her father—it was identical to every other healing enchantment she had ever done. So after dinner she had prepared the balm, and following her training she had tested it on herself. The only potential complaint was that it worked  _ too  _ well.

 

Once the king was changed out of his daywear, Reina went back across the hall, returning shortly with a little glass bottle clutched in her hand. She climbed onto the bed and knelt behind where her father sat. A few drops of the balm was enough to coat her hands before she began working it into the back of his neck, from the base of his skull to his shoulders. 

 

“Mmm…” His head tipped forward in wordless acceptance.

 

Reina smiled, but she didn’t stop methodically massaging down his neck. When his skin was covered in the balm, she moved to his shoulders, finding—without much surprise—that they were full of knots. She smoothed the oil across his shoulders, then chose a knot to start on. He winced when she pressed, making a sound of discomfort.

 

“Sorry, Father.”

 

In spite of the apology, she didn’t stop—if she did they were never coming out, magic or no—instead, she applied more careful pressure, moving along the line of his muscle, building to find the point at which discomfort crossed into pain. Then she worked just on the safe side of that line.

 

It was tiring work, especially after training. She knew there was only so much she could do in one evening, but the magic began to take hold as well. She could tell because she could feel the tension draining from his shoulders as it did. The more he relaxed the further forward he slumped. Eventually Reina was forced to stop, catching his shoulders, when she feared he would topple completely off the bed.

 

“Don’t stop…” he murmured, his objection so quiet she might not have heard it if she wasn’t so close.

 

She smiled, amused and endeared.

 

“What about Drautos’ reports?” She teased.

 

He groaned. She laughed.

 

“I jest! I’ll continue, but I don’t want you to end up on the floor.” 

 

The king lifted his head to look at her; she was gratified to see that the pain and exhaustion that had been on his face before were replaced with a relaxed sleepiness. 

 

But he sighed: “I ought to read them.”

 

Reina noted that it had changed from ‘must read’ to ‘should read.’ She was fairly confident that she could change it to ‘will read… later.’

 

“Uh huh,” Reina said. For all he tried to hold to duty, he didn’t give much resistance when she guided him to lay down on his stomach. She knelt on the bed beside him and picked up where she had left off, now feeling assured that he wouldn’t fall head first onto the floor.

 

“Perhaps I can… read while you do that…” the king mused, fighting back a yawn.

 

Reina noted that his eyes were already closed.

 

“I told you I would read them to you.”

 

“Can you do both?” He inquired; she didn’t miss the wry hint in his tone.

 

“Perhaps. Can you focus?”

 

“Almost certainly not.”

 

Reina laughed again. “Tomorrow.”

 

“Mm… tomorrow,” he agreed, and very shortly after fell fast asleep, lulled by his daughter’s ministrations. 

 

The following morning she  _ did  _ read the reports to him, shooting him a glare when he reached for the papers himself and earning his amusement. They had breakfast without bothering to get up or don the inevitable formal attire that went along with leaving the king’s chambers, and they laughed—in spite of the subject matter—whenever Reina found Drautos’ writing completely indecipherable. It became a bit like a game of fill-in-the-blank, which inevitably grew sillier page by page, and concluded in Drautos’ apparent claim that the steady advance of nephrolithiasis at the border was causing an outbreak of pyelitis.

 

“What in Eos is pyelitis?” the king asked.

 

“A sort of kidney infection,” Reina supplied helpfully. 

 

“And nephrolithiasis?”

 

“Kidney stones,” Reina smirked.

 

“So pleased to see your education put to constructive use.”

 

“Of course. However would we know what Drautos was talking about without it?”

 

That day had no classes and Reina, as had become the norm, put off her school work in favor of focusing on her other duties. The events of the previous night were repeated, more or less, as needed, becoming a comfortable part of their routine. The king never disapproved of her medicinal experimentation—the oil that soothed aches and loosened muscles—but he did ask what it was. 

 

Headaches became less of a hassle. Reina’s mood improved with this new purpose; she no longer felt so useless. Her methods were faster than the painkillers and didn’t have the side effect of, in the king’s own words, making him feel like ‘an over-medicated old man.’ It was also something of a preventative measure. His headaches grew less frequent, provided that Reina maintained a regular schedule.

 

That wasn’t to say they never occurred. And often, through a dangerous mixture of stubbornness and pride, the king neglected to tell her when one was brewing. 

 

“I refuse to be a burden,” he insisted one evening, after Reina chided him for not telling her over dinner and holding off until it was openly clear that he was in pain. 

 

In spite of his insistence, he winced in pain as she pressed her thumbs against the tight muscles at the base of his skull.

 

“Father…” Reina paused, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and hugging him from behind as she knelt on his bed. “You will never be burdensome to me. I  _ want  _ to help. I want to feel useful. You know I do.”

 

He didn’t seem to have any more justifiable objections to that, but he still looked reluctant.

 

“Promise you’ll call for me. No matter what I’m doing, I’ll come—I want to know if you need me,” Reina said.

 

“I am capable of—“

 

“Even if you just  _ want  _ me,” Reina interrupted, anticipating his objection before he had finished voicing it.

 

The king fell silent once more, considering his daughter as if he was trying to think of further excuses but drawing a blank.

 

“Promise?”

 

“Very well. I will do so.”

 

She couldn’t be sure that he  _ would _ , but it was a good start. Reina let him go.

 

She didn’t forget about the conversation, though she occasionally had cause to wonder if he had. More likely was the possibility that he hadn’t forgotten, but was actively avoiding following up. She didn’t press. Her father was exceedingly proud; she knew full well that it was a struggle for him to accept help, let alone admit that he needed it. But she hoped that he would, in time. If only just to her.

 

Winter thawed and outside the flowers began to bloom again. It hardly seemed possible that it had been a whole year since the assassination attempt on her father. There had never been a satisfactory conclusion to Cor’s investigation—much to Reina’s annoyance. He had traced the vehicle used to bring the MT into Insomnia and the drivers had been found, but everyone agreed there was a hand behind the scenes, pulling the strings. It was chilling to think that whoever it had been was still in Insomnia, quite possibly in the Citadel.

 

It motivated Reina to keep up on her training, at least. The days of ever-aching muscles were a thing of the past—though there were often still bruises. Reina found it hard to see how much she had improved, or whether she had improved at all, but on the evenings when Gladio joined her, he insisted she had.

 

“Aisa said you threw her into a wall, last week,” Gladio commented, naming one of the crownsguards that Reina trained with on occasion. 

 

He had an uncanny ability to carry on conversation while keeping easy pace with her strikes and landing a few blows of his own, between. He had always done it. Reina made an attempt to keep up because she hoped that if she could converse and fight then she could handle any battleground distraction.

 

“I just tripped her,” Reina panted, lifting her naginata to block a swing from Gladio’s sword. “She was careless. I took advantage.”

 

“Finding weaknesses and taking advantage is most of what combat is. Keep at it.” Gladio shifted his weight behind his strike, forcing Reina to move her hand or lose her fingers.

 

She might have retorted, but before she could put two words together, the door to the training hall swung open. Reina kept her eyes on Gladio’s sword until it was down—she wasn’t about to get distracted when someone had a blade that weighed half as much as she did levelled at her. When Gladio settled his sword on his shoulder and looked to the door, Reina did the same.

 

“Your Highness,” a Citadel servant stood in the doorway; she bowed to Reina, who nodded in return. “His Majesty requests your presence.”

 

Reina’s eyes widened; her stomach squirmed. She pushed back the concern and put on her mask. When was the last time he had actually summoned her? Was something wrong?

 

“Where is he?”

 

“His study, Your Highness.”

 

“Thank you.” Reina turned to Gladio as the servant left. “I must go to my father. If there is time I’ll be back to finish our match.”

 

“Sure, yeah. Do what you’ve gotta do,” Gladio said.

 

It took all her self control not to run through the Citadel. It had scarcely been an hour since she had seen him at dinner, but her mind filled the minutes between the training hall and the king’s private study with all the terrible things that could happen in an hour. She tried not to pay any attention to those thoughts, but it was difficult not to.

 

She found the king, as the messenger had said, in his study. He sat behind his desk and looked up when she entered. 

 

“Father?”

 

“Reina.” He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. She was across the room in an instant, all pretense of self-control evaporating at the sight of him. 

 

“You did make me promise,” he reminded her, still not opening his eyes—whether because they hurt or because he couldn’t bring himself to look at her, Reina couldn’t tell.

 

“Oh, Father… why didn’t you say something at dinner?” Reina sighed, leaning forward to kiss the top of his head.

 

“It was not so potent, and I….” He opened his eyes to look up at her, his expression sheepish in spite of the wince he gave in the light. “I am who you know me to be.”

 

She could hardly argue with that. She couldn’t scold him for it, either; she loved who he was. Instead she hurried upstairs for her enchanted balm and returned to the king, who was still determinedly reading from a stack of papers. 

 

“These ones I really  _ must  _ finish before morning,” he informed her when she came to stand beside him again.

 

“Can I help?” Reina asked, glancing down at the papers.

 

“You have more than enough of your own work to contend with, I am certain,” the king maintained. 

 

Reina didn’t argue—not because she agreed with him or intended not to help, but because there was no point arguing with him. She would simply take half of the reports and read them, herself. Later. For now she set the little glass bottle on her father’s desk and reached beneath the collar of his cape to unfasten his ruff. His hands caught hers, effectively halting her motions. Before she could ask why, she noted the way his eyes moved to the door.

 

Formality and appearance before all else. Reina sighed inwardly.

 

“No one is going to come in without permission.  _ I’m  _ already here,” she said pointedly, referring to the fact that she was the only person likely to enter unannounced. 

 

Reina squeezed his fingers and, reluctantly, he released her hands, allowing her to remove the collar. She warmed a dab of the oil in her hands before smoothing it over the back of his neck. When she pressed the tight muscles he let out a low hiss. In a moment, however, his head drooped forward as the magic took effect. He leaned over his desk, braced on his elbows; Reina couldn’t tell if he actually was reading the papers before him, but she suspected not. 

 

Her suspicions were only reinforced when the minutes ticked past on the clock above the fireplace and the king had yet to move on to the next page. If she’d had to guess, she would have said his eyes were closed, though she couldn’t see from where she stood.

 

“How’s your knee?” She asked at length.

 

“Stiff,” he admitted, his voice low and tired but lacking that pained note from before.

 

“And your head, now?” 

 

“If I tell you it is much improved, do you intend to stop?” He asked.

 

Reina smiled, “Not if you would prefer I continued.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Though I  _ had  _ thought it might work for your knee, too. If you sat on the lounge, I could make an attempt.”

 

He was silent for a long moment. At length he said, “I suppose it is not possible to do both.”

 

She laughed, loving that he was so enamored of this little comfort she could give him.

 

“I’m afraid not,” she admitted. “But it  _ might  _ be easier to read with less distraction.”

 

Her father groaned in objection, still refusing to lift his head for as long as her fingers moved over his neck. 

 

“I had maintained denial quite well, up until now,” he sighed.

 

Reina smoothed her hands down his neck one more time before settling them on his shoulders and leaning over to kiss his cheek. 

 

“Come on. We’ll read and I’ll see what I can do about your knee.”

 

“ _ We _ ?” The king rose, somewhat reluctantly, from his chair and allowed his daughter to guide him across to the lounge.

 

“Don’t object,” Reina sat the king down on the chaise lounge and his reports on the low table nearby. “I promise an unlimited supply of enchanted oil as soon as we’re finished, and it will go twice as fast with two of us.”

 

He didn’t object.

 

She lifted his legs across her lap so that he leaned against the raised side of the lounge while she sat perpendicular. He  _ did  _ pick up his pile of papers again, but instead of reading he watched her roll up the leg of his trousers to above his right knee. 

 

“It might help to wear a brace, you know.” Reina spoke as she worked, smoothing oil over his skin and massaging gently. 

 

The king grimaced. “As if it need be made more clear; is it not bad enough that I walk with a cane?”

 

“Father.” Reina’s hands stilled and she looked up at him levelly. “No one thinks less of you for using a cane. If anything they admire you for what you do for this kingdom.”

 

“And yet, if I am so infirm—so frail—that it seems I could not protect a single pebble, let alone a kingdom, then where will they look?” There was bitterness in his voice and on his face. It wasn’t directed at Reina, but she knew she was one of the few people who ever saw it. 

 

Reina remained placid; as much as her heart ached for him, here, at least, was something that she could handle. 

 

“To me, of course,” she said. “That’s why I go out there—so they can have someone to believe in.”

 

Her public position was, in her eyes, little more than a figurehead. But she had become the face of the royal family so he didn’t have to be. She dealt with the media, she made public appearances when it was important that the ruling family be represented. And if they could look to her and feel security, while her father was free to do what was truly needed, that was enough.

 

The king met her gaze, considering her words and her calm features. The frustration faded from his expression; he smiled at her: a thankful sort of smile, full of the warmth she loved so much.

 

“Ah, Reina. Whatever have I done to deserve such loyal support?” He leaned forward, giving her a firm hug and a gentle kiss. “You are correct, of course. Far be it from me to question your efficacy.”

 

“Don’t be silly,” Reina chided—though she preened under his affections. “Everything you do earns what I give you and more. Now read your reports so we can go to bed before midnight.”

 

Her father leaned back, putting on grave airs. “As you say, Your Highness.”

 

Reina stuck her tongue out at him.

 

He returned to his papers and Reina to his knee. Eventually she took up half of the stack for herself and began sifting through them. It was slow work. She made notes as she went, to condense the important information into easily digestible lists in case she didn’t get time to reiterate what she read to him. The hours slipped by. She watched her father yawn and struggle to keep focused and she glanced at the clock.

 

He should have been in bed.

 

She chewed the back of her pen, shooting him covert glances and wondering if she could convince him of that. Something told her it was supremely unlikely. He had a meeting in the morning, she knew. But maybe, just  _ maybe _ she could convince him of something else.

 

“Trade me spots,” Reina requested, looking up at him.

 

The king raised his eyebrows at her but didn’t object. After some shuffling she leaned against the high back of the lounge instead. 

 

“Now come here,” she motioned, tucking her legs up and setting her papers in her lap. The bench was just wide enough that they could both fit due, in no small part, to how petite she was.

 

“If you intend to put me to sleep I shall have words for you.” He moved, in spite of his objections.

 

“Oh, hush,” Reina dismissed. She braced one arm against his back as his head settled against her shoulder. Then she moved her hand so she could press her fingers into the back of his neck. “I just thought you might appreciate a change of position.”

 

He hummed his approval at the attention and relaxed against her, giving one final complaint before returning to his reading: “You  _ are  _ an imp.”

 

“I thought I was a Godsend,” Reina remarked, wry.

 

He glanced up at her with a look that might have been reproachful if he hadn’t been amused, then back down at his papers without another word. 

 

Reina settled back into her own report, but she dedicated a certain portion of her attention to rubbing the back of his neck. When his hold on the papers slipped, she knew she had succeeded. At the very least he had stopped reading. Her hand stilled; she tilted her head to look at his face.

 

“Don’t… stop…” he mumbled, not more than half awake. His eyes were well and truly shut. Reina smiled. She continued.

 

At length she felt him fall asleep the rest of the way, noting the way his breathing grew slower and deeper. This time when she stopped he didn’t object.

 

Now all that remained was to finish reading the remainder of the pages before coaxing him upstairs for a proper night’s sleep.

 

She was nearly finished when a knock from the door broke her concentration. 

 

Her eyes went first to the king, fearing the sound would wake him, but he slept on. Then she turned her gaze up toward the door, hoping it wasn’t anyone that would make her father regretful. More regretful.

 

The door cracked open and Clarus’ head appeared. He glanced first at the king’s desk and then, finding it empty, his eyes roamed to find the pair of them. The first emotion that crossed his face was surprise, the next amusement. Resigned, Reina motioned him in, giving a little smile to his broadening one.

 

“How on earth did you manage that?” He asked in a low whisper, once the door was shut behind him.

 

“With both trickery and bribery,” Reina said dryly. “But now I have to finish his work for him so he’ll actually come upstairs with me.”

 

Clarus raised an eyebrow, “I daresay he won’t be pleased with you when he wakes.”

 

It seemed a fair guess. She had tricked him into falling asleep early, then taken all of the work that he hadn’t wanted to give her even a portion of. But she was willing to deal with that when it came.

 

“You may be right.”

 

Clarus considered her for a moment, a pensive look on his face. Then, “Well, I merely dropped by to see all was well. Usually his office light is not on so late. But you seem to have things well in hand, so I will leave you to it.”

 

Reina gave him a warm smile. Clarus was a good man; he loved her father and he was loyal to a fault. She liked him. She liked that her father had him.

 

“Thank you for your attentiveness,” she said.

 

He excused himself, leaving Reina to finish off her notes and set the whole stack of papers aside. 

 

It was only with great reluctance that she roused her father; if she hadn’t been certain he would have a considerably more comfortable and restful night in his own bed, she would have stayed there all night. But she woke him with a soft touch and a gentle word and, once he was sitting up, she set about making sure all their possessions were gathered. 

 

“Reina…” the king sat on the edge of the lounge, one hand on his cane while the other picked up the stack of papers from the coffee table. 

 

She turned and watched understanding settle on his face; she was prepared for the argument, but she hoped it wouldn’t be too fierce. 

 

“You… finished all of them?” he thumbed through page after page as Reina came to stand beside him.

 

“Yes,” she said simply.

 

He looked up at her at last, not angry, per say, but stern. “I cannot ask you to take any more of my work.”

 

“You didn’t ask. I volunteered.”

 

He sighed, but that stern expression didn’t waver. “You know full well that is not what matters. You have more than enough responsibilities of you own; it is against my better judgement that I have given you this many.”

 

She knew what it was that upset him. He was still convinced that this was standing in the way of her experiencing  _ life _ . He didn’t seem to grasp that this  _ was  _ life.

 

“I like them,” Reina said. “And besides, you can’t protect me from everything forever.”

 

She took the stack of papers from his unresisting fingers and tucked it away before grasping his arm and hauling him to his feet.

 

“No…” he sighed again, accepting her help up. “I suppose not.”

 

And that, Reina thought, was that. They walked up to his rooms in silence; her father didn’t make another objection until clothes were changed, pillows were fluffed, blankets were tucked, and all but the last light was turned off.

 

“I fear I have become an encumbrance to you.”

 

Reina stopped mid-lean, her hand halfway to the light on his bedside table.

 

“Don’t think that, Father,” she said. “The only thing that ever bothers me is feeling as if I can’t help.”

 

“That cannot be true.”

 

“Father.” Reina settled both elbows on the bed, looking down at him with solemnity. “If you believe that I gain nothing from you, then… well. You’re much too wise to believe something so foolish. I love you; I love just to be with you, to talk with you, to see you smile, to hear you laugh. If I can have those things each day, I will be the happiest person in Insomnia.”

 

He didn’t have any words to say in response. He just looked up at her, his eyes shining a little bit brighter, until she gave him a kiss goodnight and shut off the light. When she settled beside him he held her a little tighter. Who needed words, anyway?


	32. Negotiation

######  _ 21 June, 756: _

_ (One month after) _

 

“Hey. Look. I got you something.”

 

Noctis’ voice pulled Reina from her reverie. She was still sitting at the bar, absentmindedly tracing the pattern of the wood grain with one finger. Her twin had returned from his Justice Monsters Five stint and was holding something in front of her nose.

 

Reina blinked. It was a bracelet: white gold cast in intertwining loops to form a chain of infinity symbols. Each one was studded with blue diamonds. She held out her hand and he dropped it in her palm.

 

“From Justice Monsters?” She asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

 

“Yeah. The prizes here are great. Put it on, then.”

 

She was still staring at the bracelet, but at his prompting she unlatched it and hooked it around her wrist, holding her hand out to study the effect. When had the last time she had put on jewelry been? She might have packed some—if so, it had all ended up in the bottom of her bag—but the only piece she remembered was the one she had left for her father in Hammerhead.

 

“Looks good!” Noctis announced. 

 

She gave him the ghost of a smile. “Thank you. It’s nice.”

 

He idled with them for a time, waiting as Prompto took over Justice Monsters and had his own attempt at the new prizes. Meanwhile, Weskham filled them in on the latest news in the city. 

 

It seemed likely that Luna was in Altissia after all, but no one knew where. There was word that she was to give a public address and that she intended to wake Leviathan. Further rumors suggested that Niflheim planned to use the opportunity to subdue the Hydraean much as they had already done to Shiva and Titan. Content not merely to rule the earth, the empire moved on the heavens as well.

 

Reina was staring at the polished wood of the bar, musing on the empire’s never-ending expansion, when someone else approached; she looked up when Weshkam greeted the newcomer.

 

“My dear Camelia, it’s been a while.”

 

The new addition was a middle aged woman: blonde and carefully put-together. The way she held herself—with poise and confidence—together with the name labelled her identity in Reina’s mind. 

 

Camelia Claustra.

 

Reina’s brain rattled off half-forgotten facts—things she hadn’t thought about in months and, if truth be told, had never expected to think about again. Camelia Claustra was Altissia’s head of state, given the title First Secretary. In spite of Accordo’s position under Niflheim’s rule, it maintained its own government. Though Reina had never met the First Secretary, there were lists of facts about the older woman in her head. She knew Camelia Claustra was a strong leader—fair, but serious—and that she held the interests of her people closest.

 

For a moment Reina felt as if she was back home.

 

“I heard about your distinguished guests,” the First Secretary supplied, turning sharp eyes on Noctis and Reina. Reina rose from her seat automatically, her body remembering, without being told, a posture that it hadn’t held in a month.

 

“Ah, you’ve an ear for gossip.” Weskham gave a knowing smile as he glanced between Camelia and the Lucian royalty.

 

“First Secretary,” Reina inclined her head, her face as even as her tone. “I had hoped we might meet first under more favorable circumstances, but there is little time for pleasantries these days. To what do we owe the honor?”

 

“Princess,” Camelia acknowledged. She gave Reina an appraising look—was that a hint of surprise?—before she continued. “Gentlemen.”

 

Reina didn’t have to look over her shoulder to know that Ignis, Gladiolus, and Prompto had joined them. Noctis stood at her shoulder, awkward and wary.

 

“You are correct in your surmise that this is not a social visit, nor a strictly diplomatic one. We have business to discuss. You should know that we have Lady Lunafreya in our care. And the empire demands we surrender her.”

 

“What?” Noctis gaped. Reina resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

 

“Yet I am loath to acquiesce unless we stand to profit. Hence I have come to discuss terms. With the King of Lucis. If you’ve a mind to talk, come to my estate.”

 

It was downright bizarre to consider Noctis the King of Lucis, and yet, who else was there? Then again, a little voice in her head said bitterly, there’s not much of Lucis left, either.

 

The first secretary left, along with her retinue of guards, leaving Reina and her brother in stunned silence. They exchanged looks; the expression on Noctis’ face was panic masked by that familiar disinterest. The former wouldn’t even be perceivable by someone who didn’t know what to look for. 

 

They didn’t discuss it. Not there, standing in the middle of the bar. Reina’s inclination to keep the conversation for later was driven by an understanding that royalty needed to maintain a semblance of dignity, even if they had none—and admitting aloud that they had no idea what they were doing in front of nearly the only Lucians in the country was bad form. Noctis’ choice—if it was a conscious one—she suspected, was driven more by his tendency to avoid uncomfortable subjects at all costs. 

 

Weskham gave them directions to a hotel and they took another gondola to reach it. The building was elaborate—stone, like all the buildings in Altissia—and richly designed. Red carpets, carefully manicured plants, an indoor fountain: it was considerably nicer than anything they had seen outside of Insomnia, even Gauldin Quay. They paid for two rooms and climbed the curling staircase to the upper levels.

 

“The First Secretary,” Ignis observed, as if with idle curiosity, as they walked.

 

“Yeah,” Noctis said with apparent disinterest.

 

“And she’s got Luna. So we’ll have to go see her,” Gladio added.

 

Reina resisted the urge to shake her head in exasperation. If Noct’s friends were trying to get something committal out of him, they were wasting their breath. 

 

“Guess so,” Noctis said.

 

“Strictly speaking, the First Secretary’s invitation was to Noctis himself. I doubt very much if there is room for the Crownsguard in matters of state,” Ignis observed, with his usual astuteness.

 

Noctis didn’t say anything. Reina didn’t have to look at him to know he didn’t want to go by himself. Personally, she was happy to let anyone else do it. It seemed they had about equal chances of not botching things up, excepting that Noct at least had the title of King to go along with him.

 

They retired to their respective rooms, Noctis and Reina in one, the other three in the second. The twins were quiet as they wound down for the night. It had been an exceedingly long day, especially for Reina, who had never gone back to sleep after her nightmare the previous night.

 

When they were showered and changed and Reina was stretched out on her bed, contemplating what it would be like to have an uninterrupted night of sleep, for once, Noctis spoke.

 

“So… you’re gonna come with me, right?”

 

She rolled her head to the side as she lay spread eagle across her bed, looking at him. It didn’t take much critical thinking to guess what he was talking about.

 

“Funny,” Reina commented dryly, “I wouldn’t have thought I would be particularly good moral support, these days.”

 

“I’m serious.” Noctis glared. “I don’t know anything about this stuff. You spent years doing it.”

 

She turned her head and looked back up at the ceiling. She  _ had  _ spent years doing it, but…

 

“That was different.” She shook her head. “I won’t be any use to you.”

 

“What? What’re you talking about? You lived this stuff—you  _ loved  _ it. Why’s it any different here than in Insomnia?”

 

“Everything I did… that was just for Father.” She spoke the words, the doubts that had been gnawing at her for a month—that if her father wasn’t sitting beside her, that she couldn’t do any of the things she had done, that she  _ wouldn’t  _ have done any of those things—but even as she said them they fell flat. Was that even true?

 

When the First Secretary had first arrived, Reina’s mind had lit up with thoughts she hadn’t had since they’d left Insomnia behind. She had felt  _ alive  _ for the first time in a month.

 

“Maybe you started things because of him—like you worked hard in school trying to impress him and you took over things in the Citadel trying to help out—but you can’t tell me that was why you kept going,” said Noctis.

 

At first her father had pushed her to take an active role in things. Then  _ she  _ had pushed for more responsibility because he had too many things to deal with. But after that… hadn’t it become as much a part of her life as taking care of him had been? When she was reluctant to return to school, was it really just because she didn’t want to leave him? Or was it also, in part, because she couldn’t imagine going back to something so inane after tasting true responsibility?

 

“You liked it,” Noct said. “Maybe almost as much as you liked seeing Dad happier.”

 

Reina still didn’t look at him. It made  _ sense _ . More sense than what she had been telling herself. But there was a bundle of nerves writhing and churning in her stomach. What if she messed up? What if she destroyed their chances of keeping Luna from the Empire? What if she froze and couldn’t remember a single thing her father had ever taught her?

 

“We’ll go tomorrow. We’ve got to keep Luna safe,” said Noctis.

 

She turned her head once more, finally looking at him. Could she really turn him down? When so much was riding on this—not just the fate of Lucis and Noctis’ destiny, but  _ Luna _ , the girl he had fallen in love with almost thirteen years ago? Didn’t  _ she  _ have a better chance of smoothing things along, with her background, than Noctis did? Father had been a magnificent king and an excellent diplomat, but genetics only carried one along so far.

 

She didn’t say anything. But she met his gaze, steeled her jaw, and nodded. She would do it. As well as she was able, she would do it.

  
  


######  _ 22 June, 756: _

_ (One month after) _

 

Reina was nervous. Maybe even more nervous than Noctis was. He watched her smooth her palms down the front of her dress and had the urge to grab her hands to stop the restless motion. She had already spent twenty minutes tugging at his coat and trying to make him look presentable.

 

“What does it matter what I look like?” He had objected. “She already knows who we are.”

 

His sister had not been amused. 

 

The others had come along, as well. Now they all stood in the hall, waiting for someone to tell him and Reina that Camelia Claustra would see them. Noct was restless, but not anxious. He just wanted it over with; this whole tip-toeing about was ridiculous. If they had Luna then they had better keep her out of the Empire’s hands, because he certainly wasn’t going to stand for anything less. If he could just  _ see her _ .

 

“Your Majesty.” A door opened and a guard stepped out. Noctis looked up. For a moment he nearly looked around for his father; he stopped himself, realizing that  _ he  _ was the one being addressed. “The First Secretary will see you, now.”

 

They were shown—all five of them—into the First Secretary’s office. It was a long room, not unlike his father’s study back in Insomnia: with a sitting area set on one side and Camelia’s desk on the other. Ignis, Prompto, and Gladio moved to the far end, sitting stiffly with the guard standing between them and the First Secretary. Noctis turned the opposite direction, coming to stand in front of the First Secretary’s desk with Reina at his side. 

 

Camelia sat behind her desk, just as uptight and formal as she had been the night before. Next to Noct, Reina’s nervous energy faded away or—more likely—was carefully hidden away beneath the surface. She stood still and, to all appearances, calm. Noctis knew better. The only thing that really concerned him about this was the possibility that his sister  _ would  _ freeze. She had done it in battle time and time again over the past month, in spite of the years she had put into training. What would stop her from second-guessing herself like that, today?

 

“Thank you for coming,” Camelia said.

 

Noct hazarded a sideways glance at Reina. She was staring fixedly straight forward, as still as if she was made of stone. Fantastic. She wasn’t talking, then. His stomach twisted—a little part of him had hoped that getting her in there would…  _ cure  _ her. But that was stupid. You couldn’t cure death.

 

In any case, it meant Noctis was talking, instead. Talk began with pleasantries. That much Noct knew, though, maybe, his pleasantries weren’t quite as formal as they should have been in order for him to be called Your Majesty. Whatever.

 

“...No sweat.” Was that an acceptable thing to say to the First Secretary? Did it really matter? Too late, now.

 

He gave it another shot: “Thanks for… coming to greet us in person.”

 

Perfect.

 

“It’s the least I could do for royalty. Weskham didn’t extend me an invitation, so I decided to extend my own. Though circumstances have changed, both the king and the oracle are finally in Altissia.”

 

Noctis’ heart skipped a beat at mention of Luna.

 

“You said that you have Luna here. She’d better be safe.” The words slipped out before he properly registered them. Did that sound like a threat? Was he supposed to make threats? Shit.

 

“She is,” The First Secretary responded, her face and voice both bland. “But whether she remains so depends wholly upon you.”

 

If he needed confirmation that he had said the wrong thing, that was it. Now, he thought, would be a  _ wonderful  _ time for Reina to find her voice again. Before he got Luna handed over to the Empire, preferably.

  
  


Reina was inescapably reminded of the first time she had given an address in her father’s court. It felt, as she had noted at the time, a little bit like being pushed into the deep end of the pool while simultaneously being stripped of her life vest. That was the sort of tests the king gave.

 

The difference was that back then he had been standing behind her; all of his wisdom, all of his authority was there, backing her up. He would have let her fail—indeed, he had let her fail more than once—but he wouldn’t have let ruin come to the kingdom due to her poor choices. And when he was behind her people listened. Why should anyone listen, now?

 

Her hands shook as they walked into the First Secretary’s office. 

 

I can’t do this, she thought desperately.

 

Her heart hammered so loudly that she felt certain it was audible to Camelia, across the desk. 

 

The First Secretary was greeting them. Reina’s mouth was paper-dry; she should have formed a response, but, though the words were there in her head, there was a solid wall between her brain and her tongue. Why was it so hard to speak?

 

Noctis spoke instead. Reina was too tense even to cringe at the casual disrespect with which he addressed the head of Accordo. But it only got worse. 

 

She watched him tell the First Secretary that he doubted Luna’s security—an unintentional jab at her competence as well as an underhanded threat. Camelia was unimpressed, and her response said as much. Reina’s mind shouted that she  _ needed  _ to say something, step in and smooth his remark over, take charge of the conversation before it went farther south, but she  _ couldn’t move _ . 

 

_ Reina. _

 

The voice sounded in her head, rather than her ears, as clear as if the king was standing behind her. 

 

_ Take initiative. Be polite, be confident. Do it  _ now _. _

 

It might have been her own words in his voice; she couldn’t tell for certain. All she knew was that it was a tone she had never once argued with.  _ Could not  _ argue with. An impossibility that swept all other impossibilities under the rug.

 

“Please forgive my brother, First Secretary.” The words streamed from her lips before she registered forming them at all. “It has been a trying month for our family, and Luna is family. He forgets that Accordo is not the Empire.”

 

Camelia inclined her head toward Reina, “As you say, Your Highness. These are trying times for us all.”

 

Noctis’ error was smoothed, but that didn’t mean there was a moment to relax. Reina’s mind focused and everything else fell away. The king’s voice didn’t speak in her mind’s ear, anymore, but she didn’t need it. Beside her, Noct relaxed. Reina knew what she was doing.

 

“We appreciate your understanding. And we appreciate the risk that your nation is under for harboring the Oracle,” Reina said without missing a beat. She couldn’t hear her heart pounding in her ears anymore; she just felt that forgotten thrill like she imagined a wolf might, on a hunt.

 

“It’s true that the Oracle is a risk… but before we discuss that, permit me to ask: Why does the Oracle seek to awaken the Hydraean?” Her eyes flicked between the pair of them. Noctis remained silent.

 

“As you know,  the Oracle speaks to the Gods on behalf of humanity. Now the Gods call for their champion and the Oracle answers on  _ his  _ behalf; she will form a covenant, so that Noctis might earn Leviathan’s blessing, just as he did Titan’s.”

 

“Ah. And tell me: what took place in Lucis with the Archaeon? It must be no simple task to earn the blessing of a God; such chaos in my nation worries me.” For all her words, the First Secretary certainly did not  _ look  _ worried. Her expression had changed little—if at all—since they had walked in, regardless of what they had said. Her tone was much the same, as well. Reina had to admit a sort of grim admiration for how difficult it was to read her. Just one more reason for Reina to push herself. What was life, really, without a  _ little  _ challenge?

 

“Indeed, First Secretary, your concerns are not misplaced. When the Oracle woke the Archaeon, Noctis’ mettle was tested in combat before Titan’s blessing was bestowed upon him. It may be that a similar trial awaits us for Leviathan, though Ramuh chose a more subtle evaluation of His Majesty’s character.” It hurt her teeth to say the words ‘His Majesty’ again. It hurt more that she wasn’t referring to her father. But the formality was necessary. Today she was Noctis’ voice, and today Noctis was the King of Lucis. “You may, however, be assured of our assistance in limiting collateral damage.”

 

“Indeed; I expect no less from you. But that is not all. I do not care to host a battle on my soil, the Gods and the Empire be damned.”

 

And there it was. The point they had been dancing about in the carefully choreographed steps of diplomacy. The First Secretary wanted her people safe—from both the Gods and the Empire—in return for keeping Luna out of Niflheim’s hands. It seemed a fair trade. After all, neither fight was Accordo’s.

 

“But of course. The Empire is Lucis’ enemy, not Accordo’s. At least not today. So you would trade the safety of your people for the safe delivery of Luna.” The words suggested it was a question; Reina’s voice made it a statement.

 

“Perceptive, Your Highness. Then let us dispense with the dance and talk terms: if you wish to hold the rite you must ensure my citizens’ safety and aid in their evacuation.” Camelia rose from behind her desk, her motions casual and controlled as she approached the window. 

 

“Without reservation,” Reina responded. “What of damages to the city?”

 

“Your concern is appreciated, but I am prepared to accept some structural damage. Keeping the citizens safe is my chief concern, and therefore yours.” The First Secretary said: a sentiment that Reina could appreciate. “And that is not all. Once the rite has begun, I will not be accountable for what follows. You are on your own and, once out of our hands, so is the Oracle.”

 

“Agreed; as I have said, we understand this is our battle with the Empire, not yours. We will hold against them.”

 

“Thank you. I’m sorry we cannot do more but, as I’m sure you’re aware, few armies can stand against the might of the imperial fleet,” Camelia said.

 

Perhaps she was sorry; it was difficult to tell. But Reina  _ did  _ know with uncomfortable certainty that the Empire’s army was not to be trifled with. Insomnia would have been crushed decades ago if not for the Wall and her father’s persistence. Even so, Niflheim had prevailed in the end.

 

“That is all for the terms. To review, you are to ensure our citizen’s safety and engage the empire. Do we have an agreement?”

 

“We have an accord, First Secretary,” Reina agreed. “I will head our evacuation efforts, myself.”

 

“Good. One final warning, though I doubt it will come to it. My duty is to my citizens; should any harm befall them, there will be a reckoning. For King, Princess, and Oracle.” If her tone hadn’t been stern before, it certainly was now. 

 

Reina smiled inwardly. Not because the situation was amusing or in any way entertaining—indeed, she believed the First Secretary would carry out her threats without hesitation—but because she felt a surge of admiration for the older woman. Once she would have done almost anything for her own people. In the past month she had thought that desire was burned out of her along with everything else, but standing there in the First Secretary’s office, having her first honest-to-Gods negotiations with a foreign nation, she felt it again. She  _ missed  _ Lucis. Not just the terrible, bottomless ache from the loss of her father, but as one might miss an old friend they had turned away from. It was still there, waiting for her. She still had her people.

 

“I understand. Every ruler must do what is necessary for their people,” Reina said, and she meant it.

 

The First Secretary gave her a searching gaze: piercing, like only a ruler could muster. Perhaps she was wondering if Reina  _ did  _ understand. When she spoke, it left little doubt what conclusion she had come to.

 

“You’re just like your father.”

 

Reina felt her face flush hot, in spite of her best efforts to keep every scrap of emotion tucked away. Luckily, she  _ did  _ manage to keep the tears from forming in her eyes. 

 

Her mouth felt dry, but somehow she managed a response: “Thank you, First Secretary.”

 

Camelia had likely meant very little by it. How could she know that they were the words Reina wanted to hear most?


	33. Deep Breaths

######  _ 22 June, 756: _

_ (One month after) _

 

The day that followed was rush after rush. Their meeting with the First Secretary concluded, only to be followed by more meetings with other officials. Noctis left the bulk of the work to Reina. He was fair useless in that realm, anyway. And yet, Reina didn’t feel any sort of annoyance toward him. Indeed, she was much too busy to think of anything except for what she was doing. 

 

Following the meeting with the First Secretary, they met with Accordo’s spymaster, who gave them what intel had been collected on the approaching Imperials. Though it hadn’t been part of the bargain Reina had struck with Camelia, the information was given freely. She appreciated it, and made sure they knew that. It was always better not to go charging blindly into volatile situations, but that was more or less what they had been planning. Now, at least, they had some idea of what they could expect from the Empire. Leviathan was still anyone’s guess.

 

After that Reina met with a corporal of Altissia’s guard to discuss the evacuation effort. She sent Noctis back to the hotel for that, since it had nothing to do with him. Gladio and Prompto went with him, but Ignis stayed behind; she welcomed the company.

 

They spent several hours pouring over plans and maps, listening to arrangements and memorizing instructions. The whole thing was admirably planned out, in fact. If all went smoothly it seemed they would be able to get the vast majority of the citizens out of harms way before the Oracle summoned the Hydraean. Of course, nothing ever went quite as planned. There were also contingency plans for various possibilities: the Empire was expected to focus their attentions on Leviathan, Noctis, and Luna, but there was still a small chance they would get in the way of Accordo’s evacuation efforts. The First Secretary had, after all, harbored the Oracle in spite of Niflheim’s demands. Niflheim also had every reason to want Lucis’ royal family and their retinue killed.

 

That was the subject over dinner, that evening, when Reina and Ignis finally returned.

 

“I don’t like these plans, much,” Gladio said bluntly.

 

They sat in the open cafe outside of the hotel, plates and cups pushed aside to make room for a map of the city spread on the table between them. Daylight had already faded, leaving them just the city lights to work by.

 

“Indeed. Noctis faces Leviathan and whatever the Empire throws at him on his own, while our hands are tied by the terms of our arrangement,” Ignis observed. “Alas, there is little choice; Accordo’s citizens must be protected. We will simply have to trust that Noctis can handle himself until we are free.”

 

“I  _ can _ handle myself,” Noctis said.

 

“It’s not just Noct I’m worried about,” Gladio said. His eyes landed on Reina. “You forget the Nifs want the princess dead, too? And she’s out in this quadrant while we’re spread out over here.”

 

He tapped the map to indicate their positions, looking back up at Ignis. “First Secretary made it real clear they weren’t gonna help kill any MTs. Not even to protect Lucis’ princess.”

 

Noctis looked at Reina. There was uncharacteristic concern on his features.

 

“Rei...“

 

A day ago the thought of being out in the middle of a swarm of Imperials without her brother or his friends at her back would have chilled her blood. Today, the way they all fussed just irked her.

 

“I can deal with a few MTs,” she scowled.

 

The dubious looks she was met with only fed into her annoyance. The fact that they had very good reason to doubt didn’t help, either. 

 

Gladio wasn’t listening. “Look. The First Secretary said they only needed three of us, right? Just because we volunteered four doesn’t mean we’ve gotta follow through. I’ll go with Reina—“

 

Her chair tumbled backward when she rose to her feet. She braced her hands on the tabletop and leaned across, levelling blazing eyes at Gladio. Who did he think he was? Who did he think  _ she  _ was? They might have been Noctis’ brothers, but they weren’t hers. Perhaps he had forgotten in the past month. Perhaps he had been filling his mind with lies about that kiss they had shared, years ago. She had just secured Luna’s safety from the First Secretary of Accordo. She could kill a few Imperials.

 

“You will do precisely as I have told you to, Gladiolus, or I will know why.” She didn’t raise her voice. Indeed, it was dangerously quiet. The sort of tone that didn’t cut through conversation, but caused all other voices to cease and listen. “I will take care of myself.”

 

There was silence following her words, so thick it was stifling. Four pairs of stunned eyes watched her as she turned on her heel and left the room. 

 

He would do what she said.

  
  


Outside, the night air was warm on her skin. Not as bad as Lestallum, where the sun was scorching even after it set, this time of year—perhaps every time of year—but not nearly as nice as a summer night in Insomnia. Reina stood on the balcony outside the room she shared with Noctis, bracing her hands on the railing and looking out across the intricate network of perfectly connected buildings and squared paths running a maze between them. 

 

She sighed.

 

Altissia was beautiful. She had heard as much, time and time again. Always it was one of those things on her list that she never expected to complete: see Altissia. Father had said it was lovely. A year ago she would have been thrilled to be there, because a year ago the only way she would have been there was at the king’s side. It was the only way she had ever imagined visiting. Without him it was just… dull.

 

“I miss you, Father,” she told the sky, wondering again at the legend of Lucian Kings remaining bound to Eos. 

 

That day she had done so many things she hadn’t touched on for a month. She had felt so many things. She had been alive for the first time since the day her heart had died. But now her world was still and quiet and she felt guilty at having been content. How could she feel alive if her soul was gone? How could she appreciate anything and still say she had loved him more than her own life?

 

“That is what you wanted for me, though, isn’t it?” She rested her elbows against the railing and leaned over. “Life. Living. Not just now—I don’t know if that’s why you saved me but… I like to think you had other reasons, too—but before, also. You always wanted me to go out with my friends… have a social life… fall in love.” 

 

She smiled, amused but melancholy. “Maybe you noticed that’s not really what I want from life, because you stopped pushing it. I thought I knew what it was that made my life enjoyable, instead. Guess there was more to it.”

 

Her lips quirked again as she thought of her father—astute and wise like she could only ever dream of being. “You knew, I think. Else you would never have stopped pestering me about going out.”

 

Reina gazed at the drop below the balcony, watching the little waves move the water’s surface as she considered. That day had been the first day she had felt she might be able to carry on. The pain wasn’t gone; indeed, she expected it never would be. But that terrible, black emptiness was broken.

 

“I’ll do it. I’ll hold my head up and keep going, not just because you wanted it, but because I must. For me, for Noctis, for every Lucian.”

 

Again she fell silent, letting the city sounds fill her up. It wasn’t home, but it was the closest she was going to get for a long time. 

 

The king never answered her when she spoke to him. Maybe he was bound to the ring, wherever that was; maybe that supposed Lucian ability to speak to their forefathers had skipped her like so many other royal family magicks; or maybe it was all a lie and his spirit was gone. Whatever the truth was, Reina still always felt a little better after talking to him—wherever he was. She chose to believe he could hear, even if he couldn’t respond.

 

“He would have been proud of you, today.”

 

Reina twisted, her heart skipping a beat at the voice from behind her. It was Ignis. That was something of a surprise. If anyone, she had expected Noctis might follow her.

 

She flushed, realizing he must have heard her talking to ghosts, and dropped her gaze, turning to look back out at Altissia. “I hope he would.”

 

“I believe he always was, Your Highness.” Ignis stepped up to the railing as well, but he stood with his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes fixed on the city.

 

There was no response she could think of for that, so she didn’t try to make one. After a moment he spoke again.

 

“I happened to witness, one day in court, the king on his throne while the princess addressed a courtier. I believe you missed it, as you stood before him, but he smiled with something akin to admiration as he watched you.” Ignis glanced sideways at Reina as she looked up at him—surprised again. “I think His Majesty would have looked much the same today, watching you address the First Secretary.”

 

Reina managed a smile; her vision was blurred with tears, but she held them back.

 

“Maybe,” she murmured. She blinked until her eyes were dryer, then straightened, looking up at him with her arms crossed over her chest. “And what do you suppose he would have thought of my outburst over dinner?”

 

“I would hardly call it an outburst.”

 

“No?’ Reina tilted her head to one side, considering him. Then she smiled: a real smile, though bittersweet. “He would have laughed, you know. I always teased him about being too proud to admit weakness. It would have amused him to point out when I had done the same thing.”

 

“Perhaps he did laugh.”

 

“Perhaps,” Reina agreed. 

 

They were silent again for a time, each with their own thoughts, breathing in the thick summer air and admiring the lights over the water’s surface, the soft music and the smooth sway of the gondolas passing in the distance. Again it was Ignis who broke it.

 

“It was not simply your pride talking, I suspect. You said you would take care of yourself; I doubt it was merely because you couldn’t stand  _ not  _ saying so.”

 

“Are you asking if I can take care of myself?”

 

Ignis glanced sideways at her. “I suppose I am. For an honest answer, at least, and I’ll take what answer you give as the truth.”

 

That was what she admired about Ignis. He might have questioned as much as Gladio did, but he went about voicing it much more calmly. More diplomatically. He had a way of getting people to admit they were wrong by somehow making them think they had come to that conclusion all on their own.

 

“Then I will tell you that you needn’t worry about me. I think I will take your words to heart.”

 

“My words?”

 

“In Lestallum. You told me that training was doing. You’re right, of course. I’ve just been holding myself back,” she paused, her eyes hardening as she thought of the past twenty four hours. “But no longer. I can’t afford to.”

 

“I am pleased to hear it.”

 

“Thank you for talking with me. Again. Maybe your purpose is always the same as Gladio’s, but he has this magical way of doing everything  _ wrong _ . It’s extraordinary. I believe he brings out the worst in me when he decides I need to change my mind.”

 

Ignis hid a smile. “He can be forceful. But you know he does it because he cares for you.”

 

Reina raised an eyebrow at him. “He can keep his care to himself if that’s what it looks like.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Only, I had thought… forgive me. It seems I have misinterpreted.”

 

Was it her imagination, or was Ignis’ face redder than usual? Surely it was just the city lights. Still, she was intrigued. What, exactly, had he misinterpreted?

 

“Thought what?” She asked.

 

Ignis hesitated. 

 

“Go on. Out with it,” she insisted.

 

“I had thought you and Gladio—well, there were a few years when the two of you spent hours together every day.”

 

Reina blinked at him. He had thought she and Gladio were  _ dating _ ?

 

“That was just weapons training.” It seemed a weird thing to base such a conclusion on.

 

Ignis cleared his throat. “And, ah… I once happened past the training hall in time to see…”

 

“Oh.” Now it was Reina’s turn to blush.  _ That  _ was a more solid thing to base such a conclusion on. “That… only happened the once. And I stopped him before… well. We only kissed.”

 

She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to clarify that part, but she did. This was an odd conversation, wasn’t it? Was her face ever going to stop feeling so hot?

 

“Ah, I see. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“

 

“No, it’s fine. I’d rather it was known. Gladio and I aren’t anything, and I have no interest in him.” Maybe once she had and had only pulled away because of her own obligations. But if the past few weeks were any indication, it was clear they would have been a terrible match.

 

“Of course. Your Highness.”

 

Reina smiled, wry. “Reina.”

 

“Reina.”

 

They retired for the night, but Reina continued to think about what he had said. Perhaps it wasn’t common knowledge among her brother’s friends, but Reina hadn’t ever  _ really  _ dated anyone. Not in a serious capacity. By the time she was of an age to think about it, she  _ hadn’t  _ really thought about it. There was always one more thing, one more  _ important  _ thing. She had never fallen in love, much to her father’s chagrin, and she had never much lamented that fact.

 

But it would have been nice, wouldn’t it? In some fantasy world where she had the time and energy to pursue a relationship, if she had fallen in love and brought him home to join her family.

  
Father would have been so pleased. For all he teased her about playing the overprotective father, he  _ would  _ have loved it. He had always said he wanted that for both of them.


	34. Mischief at the Fish Pond

######  _ Summer, 754: _

_ (Two years before) _

 

That summer they turned nineteen. It marked one year since Reina had taken up her place at the king’s side in an official capacity. In the Citadel, people joked that the king’s daughter did more than his heir—but never within earshot of the king. Reina didn’t mind. It was true, anyway, and Noctis didn’t care. For his part, the king was just happy to see his children happy.

 

Like today.

 

It hadn’t taken much to convince him to take the day off— or as close as possible. He was much more willing to do so for the sake of his children than for his own sake, and having Noctis there was as much further bribe as was needed. So Clarus had the kingdom and they had the day to do with as they pleased.

 

They went out. It was nice to be out of the Citadel and nicer still to see the king out. It meant they were accompanied by a retinue of crownsguards, but that was the price they paid. 

 

In the park behind the Citadel—the one that Noctis had often snuck into to get away from people in their youth—there was a pond. That was their destination. The path along the way was deserted, as were the woods and the pond itself. Nothing but the cheerful chatter of birds and the whisper of trees as the breeze passed. Reina knew better than to think it was happenstance that no one else was there. It was by design. 

 

Cor had been more prickly than before, having never reached a satisfactory conclusion to his investigation into the MT in the king’s chambers.  _ He  _ had cleared the park and chosen his own team to go with them. Cor himself went along, of course, as well as Gladiolus and a dozen others. Overkill, as far as Reina was concerned. At least Clarus had stayed behind to mind matters in the Citadel in the king’s absence.

 

If she hadn’t spent her life being followed around by the Crownsguard wherever she went, Reina might have found it irksome—or, at the very least, distracting—but she had learned to disregard them. It was a skill. It allowed her to focus on what mattered like, for instance, how openly  _ cheerful  _ Noctis was at the prospect of fishing. 

 

“The Insomnian Bass is the biggest, here, but the King Barramundi tastes better. Maybe I’ll catch enough for dinner.”

 

There had been a steady monologue of fish facts the whole way over. Every so often Reina shot her father a long-suffering look. He only smiled, his eyes twinkling.

 

“Who’s cooking?” Reina asked.

 

“Ignis,” said Noctis without pause.

 

“You know we have people that we pay to cook food, right?” Reina asked dryly. 

 

“Ignis gets paid.”

 

“But not to cook,” their father observed.

 

“Not to babysit, either, but he sure does that,” Reina muttered in an undertone.

 

Her father laughed. Noctis glared, but didn’t stop walking. He was three steps ahead of them and visibly struggling to keep his pace slow. Reina walked arm-in-arm with the king, not the slightest bit irked by his slower pace. She watched their footing on the dirt path with sharp eyes, wary and cautious in spite of the king’s good spirits.

 

When they were in sight of the pond, Noctis gave up trying to hold back and broke out into a trot. He passed by Cor and Gladio, who were walking in front, and raced for the causeway.

 

“Your Highness,” Cor didn’t raise his voice, but his tone was scolding all the same. 

 

“Noct!” Gladio  _ did  _ yell. 

 

Noctis didn’t stop. A quick glance at the king told the crownsguards that he wasn’t likely to put a stop to things. Cor picked up his pace, Gladio half a step behind. 

 

No assassins jumped out of the bushes—nor the pond. Noctis stopped at the end of the wooden dock and immediately reached for his fishing rod, apparently oblivious to the trouble he had caused. 

 

“How many Barramundi can you eat, Reina?” He called back as he cast his line.

 

“How big is one?”

 

“Maybe like….” Noctis held his hands out to indicate the length of his hand and forearm together, “That big.”

 

“Not even one,” Reina responded.

 

“Spoilsport.”

 

They settled in for a long afternoon of fishing or, more accurately, watching Noctis fish. Cor gave directions and the crownsguards were dispersed, forming a perimeter around the royal family. Reina set out the chairs they had brought and sat down beside her father, comfortable and content.

 

“What’s that pretty one?” Reina asked, peering over into the water.

 

Noctis looked where she pointed. “Lucis Koi. Doesn’t taste very good. I hear they eat ducks.”

 

“They do  _ not _ ,” said Reina.

 

“Not big ones. Like baby ducks.”

 

“Fish don’t eat ducklings.”

 

“That one does.”

 

“I don’t believe you,” Reina said, folding her arms over her chest. 

 

“That’s my curse, as a brother. Even when I tell you the truth you think I’m lying.”

 

Reina looked at the king, who shrugged, as if to say he had no idea whether or not the fish actually ate ducklings. Reina pulled her boots off and tucked her feet into her father’s chair, trying to look sullen. It was a difficult feat when she was so content.

 

Conversation drifted aimlessly. Noctis’ catches were kept on ice—it seemed that they really would have fish for dinner, and then some. Then again, it only stood to reason. On their birthday they had their favorite foods, and Noctis’ was unequivocally fish. Preferably fish he had caught himself.

 

As the sun crept toward the horizon, conversation turned to the future. Often it was a topic they avoided, given the dark things that lurked ahead, but that day it was bright enough to think about. 

 

“Why is it,” their father began, his gaze flicking between his children, “That neither of you has ever brought someone home?”

 

“I brought Prompto home once,” Noctis said.

 

“I take it you and Prompto are  _ not  _ intending to be married.”

 

“Oh. No. I don’t think so,” Noctis said, apparently just catching the gist of the conversation. His eyes were still fixed on the water, his hands guiding the lure gently through the pond.

 

“Noctis only wants to marry  _ one  _ person, and she lives—“

 

“Hey!” Noctis swiveled to glare at her, but at the same moment his line jerked, signalling a bite, and he was forced to turn right back to the water.

 

“Who, pray tell, does Noctis wish to marry?” Their father asked mildly.

 

Reina grinned wickedly at the back of Noctis’ head. Her brother had never brought a girlfriend home because he had never had one. But he waited impatiently for Umbra and the journal he carried as soon as it was out of his sight.

 

“I will poison your dinner and murder you in your sleep,” Noctis warned.

 

“You’re going to poison  _ and  _ murder me? Isn’t that overkill?”

 

Their father sighed, but there was a smile on his face. “It is clear I shall not learn this mystery woman’s identity without endangering my only daughter. I shall, instead, accept that there is such a woman who, for some reason, is unable to visit.”

 

Reina smirked. Noctis hazarded a glare at her over his shoulder, holding his fishing rod steady.

 

“And what of you, my dear? I must give your brother equal opportunity to embarrass you: why, then, have  _ you  _ never brought a fair young gentleman home?”

 

“Father, you know full well I’m not dating. I’m too busy.” She had too many things going on in her life to think about a relationship—it was true now, more than ever. Since winter, her father had openly needed her help, and she certainly wasn’t going to deny him. When she  _ did _ think about dating, though, she felt no great longing.

 

“Besides, I like my life. What do I need a marriage for?”

 

“Well if not for yourself then for me,” her father said. “Have you not considered that I might like to see you married, or to have grandchildren?”

 

Reina grinned. “How selfish of me, Father. I hadn’t considered your feelings at all. Tell me, who shall I marry? We’ll have it done with right away.”

 

He smiled and leaned back in his chair, settling his hands on his daughter’s legs as they rested across his lap.

 

“Really though, Father. Do you actually want to see us married off?” She asked.

 

“You know full well that what I would like is to see you both happy. My marriage was a happy one. I should like the same for each of you. Preferably while I am still around to witness it.”

 

“You better stick around then, old man.” Noctis had finally dragged his bass from the water. He turned with his prize held out in front of him.

 

“Perhaps it is  _ you  _ who ought to make haste with your mystery woman, my son,” the king remarked dryly. “That is a lovely one; what is it called?”

 

“It’s an Insomnian Bass,” Noctis said, setting it down and cutting the hook free with his knife.

 

“I thought those didn’t taste as good,” Reina said.

 

“Not gonna stop me from eating it.”

 

A pause as they watched Noctis drop his bass onto ice and string a new line. Then:

 

“Not even a secret boyfriend?”

 

“No, Father,” Reina drawled.

 

He sighed, but was unwilling to give up. “What about Ignis? You like Ignis.”

 

Reina flushed scarlet.

 

“ _ Dad! _ ”

 

“Wha—Rei likes Specs?” Noctis dropped his line and didn’t even care enough to swear. He was too busy gaping at Reina.

 

“Ah. Perhaps  _ that  _ was a secret,” the king observed, a bit late.

 

Reina kicked him. He laughed.

 

“That was—years ago,” She scowled.

 

“Was it? Why, then, are you still highly interested when I say I have casually crossed paths with him during the day?”

 

“ _ That  _ is a figment of your imagination,” she retorted. 

 

“Oh, but of course. I humbly beg forgiveness for my erroneous conclusion.”

 

“You’re  _ not  _ forgiven.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell  _ me  _ you like Ignis?” Noctis asked, still standing by, looking torn between shock and indignation.

 

“I  _ don’t! _ And even if I did, we wouldn’t get married. He’s too busy.  _ I’m  _ too busy. We’re both busy.”

 

Their father sighed, resigned. “Likely you are correct. You would have the busiest marriage in the history of Lucis.”

 

“We’re not getting married,” Reina repeated.

 

“Yes, my dear, so you have said.” He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling in that way that said he didn’t for a moment believe what she was telling him.

 

Reina huffed. Noctis laughed. She glared at him, then her lips twisted in a mischievous smile.

 

“It’s Lunafreya, by the way. Noctis _ loves _ Luna.”

 

“ _ Hey! _ ”

 

Noctis lunged for her. Reina dove sideways out of her chair, hitting the dock and rolling away. The king looked stunned for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed.

 

“I’m gonna find out if koi eats princess,” Noctis growled, catching Reina by the ankles and dragging her toward the end of the dock.

 

She screamed, digging her fingers in between the planks of wood as she tried to pull away from him. It did little good.

 

“Father—!” 

 

“You have dug your own grave, I fear,” he said solemnly, moving his cane out of the way as Noctis dragged her past. 

 

“Why are you both picking on me, today?! It’s my birthday too, you know!” Reina squealed. Noctis heaved one last time and she went over into the water.

 

It shouldn’t have been so cold, for the end of summer. It had no  _ right  _ being that cold. And there were  _ fish  _ in it; slimy, wriggling fish. At least she wasn’t wearing shoes, and she had no heavy clothes to weigh her down, just shorts and a light top.

 

She surfaced, spat water, and glared up at the dock. Noctis laughed. Behind him stood their father, looking as if he was trying  _ not  _ to be amused and failing.

 

“I will kill you both in your sleep,” She grumbled, treading water and drifting slowly closer. Her hair was  _ ruined _ . And she had actually put the effort into doing something to it, that morning.

 

Her threat did nothing to stop Noctis’ laughter. Reina decided to take more drastic measures. Usually she wouldn’t have, given their father’s proximity, but  _ he  _ hadn’t been much of a help, either. In fact, the whole thing was practically his fault. If anyone thought he was an innocent bystander rather than an instigator, they were a fool.

 

She flung water at the both of them, flailing and splashing while her father and brother stumbled back, trying to keep dry. Neither succeeded.

 

When she pulled herself up from the pond and stood, dripping, at the end of the dock, both of them were streaked with dark, damp patches. Still, neither had quite the same drown-cat look or fish-pond smell that she had acquired. It wouldn’t do.

 

“Come now, Noctis,” Reina said, walking down the dock toward him. “The family that swims together, stays together.”

 

She lunged forward, grabbing his forearm and twisting. He was bigger than her and, by default, stronger than her—but he had spent the past year actively dodging training with Gladio while she had spent it growing muscle and practicing combat. 

 

He pulled back against her, but foolishly didn’t try to counter the throw. She turned her body away from him and heaved. He bowled over her shoulder and landed in the pond with a splash. 

 

When he came back to the surface she stepped away, ensuring that he couldn’t reach her ankles to pull her back in. She was already soaked and unconcerned about getting splashed, though, so she held her ground and turned to smile sweetly at her father.

 

The king held his hands up in a sign of non-hostility. “Surely you would not throw your beloved father into a koi pond. I could be injured by such rough treatment.”

 

Reina didn’t stop smiling. It seemed to unnerve him, which only made her more amused. She wasn’t going to throw him in, of course. While she might have been able to, he was right. She would never have done anything that might cause him harm and, besides, he was wearing too many clothes. He would have been dragged down when they were drenched—and his knee brace would do no favors. Nor, indeed, would treading water be good for his bad leg.

 

No, she had other plans for him.

 

When Noctis dragged himself out of the water she took a step toward him. He took a defensive stance, but she raised her hands to indicate she wasn’t going to do anything. Under their truce he let her approach and she whispered in his ear.

 

“Grab the empty ice bucket.”

 

Maybe it was their psychic twin bond. Or maybe it was nineteen years of causing trouble for and with each other. Whatever the reason, Noct didn’t need any further instruction. He flashed her a grin and they both picked up buckets that had once held ice. When they dipped them into the pond, the king took another hasty step back, evidently guessing their plan.

 

“Now, children. Do not do anything you will regret in the morning. Let us all be rational for a moment.”

 

His half-hearted pleas didn’t stop their steady advance. He cried out when two buckets of ice cold water were flung at him, but it was surprise and laughter and happiness bubbling over. 

 

If anyone noticed that, when the royal family returned to the Citadel that night, all of them were soaked through and smelling a little of fish, no one commented. No more than they commented on the peculiar meal choice—grilled Barramundi and a vegetable curry, followed by an odd fruit pastry presented by Ignis and a series of small chocolate cakes. 

 

There was more laughter in the dining room that night than there had been for months. It followed them upstairs after the meal and spilled over from the king’s chambers. The crownsguards outside later reported that they could hear the murmur of voices and the rustle of laughter until well past midnight. 

 

“We’ll both get married, someday, Father.”

 

“Do not rush on  _ my  _ account.”

 

“Will you walk with me down the aisle?”

 

“Even if I have long since lost the ability to walk, I swear it.”


	35. The Plunge

######  _ 23 June, 756: _

_ (A month and a week after) _

 

Luna was magnificent. Everything that Reina might have ever expected her to become, she had. Twelve years under the empire had done nothing to take away the calm confidence that she had always seemed to exude. Indeed, if anything, it had grown.

 

Reina stood in the crowd, half listening to the conversation over the radio and half listening to the Oracle. She couldn’t see Noctis from where she was, but she knew he was among the thousands that had gathered to listen. She knew he was awed without having to see him.  _ She  _ was awed. Everyone in the crowd was awed.

 

Somehow, Luna made it sound like they could win. Like she actually believed it. And when she believed it she made those listening believe it. For the first time in a month, Reina felt it might not just be a futile endeavor.

 

And then it was through. Ignis was on the radio telling them the Imperials were arriving—that was Noctis’ job to worry about, though. The Empire was expected to engage the Hydraean as soon as she woke. Noctis would have to hold them off until the rest of them could lend aid. For now, Reina’s place was right where she stood, with the people of Altissia. 

 

Overhead Magitek engines drifted, sending a reverberating mechanical hum through all those who stood below. Reina didn’t let herself watch—not for long, anyway. She had work to do.

 

The citizens surged and flowed like the ocean itself—dangerously impossible to control. They were of two minds: those who wanted to witness a God waking and those who wanted to get out as fast as possible. The former group would find their way blocked by the Altissian guards. The latter was more concerning. If their haste turned into frenzy then lives would be lost. 

 

Reina stood in the midst of them, a stone cutting through water. She was well below head-height for the vast majority of those around her, but her voice was strong and true. In spite of her size no one jostled her nor overlooked her. They listened. Against all odds they followed. 

 

_ “Noct. The Hydraean has awoken.”  _

 

The crowd in Reina’s square was thinning around her by the time Ignis’ voice lit up the radio again.

 

_ “The civilians?” _ Noctis asked

 

_ “Almost there. We’ll join you when we’re done,”  _ said Gladio’s voice.

 

The plan was to head north across the city and hold off the Empire once the evacuation effort was complete. Reina was closest; the others were farther south and would take longer to finish. She followed the last of the stragglers down the causeway along with a handful of the Altissian guard before she bid her temporary companions farewell and turned around.

 

“Finished here; I’m heading up,” she announced over the communications channel.

 

“ _ Watch yourself, Reina. _ ”

 

She bristled, indignant at Gladio’s warning. She still hadn’t forgiven him for his lack of confidence in her— more than part because she knew it was completely justified.

 

“An unnecessary warning, Gladiolus,” she said tersely.

 

He didn’t say anything else, so she pushed north through the deserted city in search of trouble. 

 

Whatever Gladio might have thought about her, Reina knew her limits. Perhaps he and Noctis could storm headfirst into a pack of Imperials, but Reina was at her best when she could keep them at a distance. That was how she had been trained. If she had engaged any opponent, sword against sword and all else equal, she would have lost. The fact was that her arms just weren’t as long as Gladio’s—and that was a disadvantage she had to work around. So she trained with weapons that gave her the extra distance.

 

For now, since she had no backup and no certainty of when it would arrive, she chose to keep farther back than just the five feet her naginata gave her. Once she was close enough to hear the clank of Magitek feet, she looked for a suitable vantage. There was a high building— a tower with a narrow balcony wrapping around the top. If she could climb it she would be well enough out of the way. Provided she could cut through any Imperials she encountered  along the way.

 

The first one she encountered rounding a corner. She spotted it in spite of trying to keep her eyes on her end goal as she wove through the maze of streets and stairs. She reached for her weapon and it formed in her hand, the staff smooth in her palm. But as she watched the MT approached, soulless, empty eyes staring at her, she felt that now-familiar hesitation.

 

What if Gladio had been right? What if she couldn’t do it at all? What if she got herself killed for pride?

 

The memory of the first time she had faced an MT leapt to mind. She had frozen then, too. But she  _ had  _ done it; she  _ could  _ do it. 

 

She forced her body into a stance, making her muscles remember half-forgotten positions. Except they weren’t forgotten. As soon as she had her naginata in the right position, everything else fell into place. 

 

The MT advanced, raising its sword and picking up speed. She waited, muscles still and tense, like a trap waiting to be sprung. There was a correct time for everything: too soon and it was a waste; too late and she was dead. But she knew what five feet looked like. She knew exactly how far her blade would reach. As soon as the MT crossed that line, she swept up with her polearm, slicing straight through its torso and detaching one arm. She changed directions in one smooth motion, just like she had done time and time again, so often that she could have done it in her sleep. This time the curved blade cut into the MT’s neck. The red light of false life faded. The empty armor collapsed. 

 

She could do this all day.

 

There were half a dozen others in her path to the tower. She cut them down methodically and without the previous hesitation, leaving a short path of dead MTs in her wake. When she reached the building she released her weapon and began to climb.

 

_ “Reina, what’s your position?”  _ Ignis’ voice spoke in her ear, over the radio.

 

Of course he had to ask questions while both her hands were busy. She looked up. The ledge—her goal—was only a few feet higher. He could wait. She didn’t much want to hang on with one hand so she could press the talk button.

 

_ “Reina? Are you there? _ ”

 

One awkward fact she had forgotten to account for: climbing up from beneath the balcony meant that the balcony was now directly over her head with no way to get on top of it.

 

_ Would that I had Noct’s abilities _ , she thought dryly, scrambling for a foothold as she reached for the overhang.

 

_ “Reina?!” _ That one was Gladio. Just brilliant. Now he was going to think he was right. And she had done so well for herself, too.

 

She managed to get her hands around one of the railing supports. She didn’t  _ want  _ to released the foothold she had, but that was the only way to get up. So she took a deep breath, gritted her teeth, and dropped her feet so she hung from the ledge. 

 

_ Don’t. Look. Down. _

 

_ “I’m gonna backtrack and look for her. She should have been coming from the square.” _

 

The thought of being  _ rescued  _ by Gladio was enough to spur her on. She heaved with both arms, her muscles straining and screaming protests after a month of disuse. Somehow she got her elbows up on the ledge with her arms still attached— she knew they were still attached because she checked, because it felt like they weren’t. She shifted one hand to the adjacent rail and dragged her upper body up until she rested on the stone down to her hips. From there it was more inconvenient, because that was about as wide as the ledge was.

 

_ “I’ll search east. Prompto, stay near Noct and the Hydraean.” _

 

_ Not you, too, Ignis _ , Reina groaned inwardly as she kicked her feet and pushed up with her arms.

 

Somehow, miraculously, she got her butt on the solid stone of the ledge. She sighed heavily, making a mental note to pick up the strength training she had been neglecting since they had left Insomnia, and hauled herself to her feet.

 

“Why couldn’t you have asked where I was one minute earlier or three minutes later. Gods.” Reina hit the talk button as she leaned against the railing, looking out over the city. It was nice from up there—save for the MTs crawling around and the giant sea serpent flailing in the bay. 

 

Alright, it wasn’t very nice.

 

_ “Reina!” _

 

_ “Highness—!” _

 

_ “Reina! You’re alright!?” _

 

“I’m fine. Just had my hands full.”

 

_ “Where are you? Need a blade? There’re MTs everywhere.” _

 

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Gladiolus. Surely he could give it a rest, one of these days.

 

“No, they weren’t a hassle. I mean I had my hands full. Of stone, if you must know.” Reina’s eyes scanned the ground. She could see the tiny figure of her brother in the bay with Leviathan. She could see the white-clad Luna. Farther back she spotted Prompto’s shock of blond hair. It was easy to pick Noctis’ friends out—they were nearly the only humans in the city.

 

_ “Where are you, Reina?”  _ This time it was Ignis who asked. 

 

She didn’t feel the need to be cutting with him, so she just answered. “Look up and south.”

 

She watched the Ignis’ tiny likeness do as she said—he looked like a toy from so far up.

 

“Hi.” When he was looking in her direction she waved. “I’ve got a good vantage from here, so I’ll cover and lookout. Imperials on the Hydraean’s north; take a look. I expect they’ll try to bind her like they did Titan.”

 

_ “I’ll go.”  _ Ignis had given her a brief wave in return before he turned and moved north.

 

Reina watched him weave through the streets. She reached for her weapon again, this time laying hands on the smooth arch of her bow. The wood felt warm in her hands, but it had been several weeks since she had touched it. She wasn’t as attached to the bow as she was to the naginata—which her father had given her—but she loved it, all the same. It was an impractical looking weapon—taller than she was and asymmetrical. But it could punch a hole in an MT from halfway across Altissia.

 

She ran her hands over the curve of her bow and reached for an arrow. It leaped to her hand, just as the bow had. She nocked it and scanned for a target. Ignis was making his way north toward the Hydraean, encountering trouble along the way. She drew, holding the bow two thirds of the way down and gripping the string with her thumb. She had been wearing her gloves, pointlessly, all month. Now at least they were some use. Her thumb and the first two fingers on her right hand were covered, the fabric—thin but sturdy—protecting her skin from the cut of the bowstring as she pulled it past her ear. When she released, the string brushed harmlessly over the thumb of her other glove—the only covered finger on her left hand—and the arrow flew true.

 

Her mark fell. Ignis, his path now unimpeded, gave her a brief wave of thanks before continuing on. She turned her eyes elsewhere.

 

It was easy to fall into the swing of the battle, after that. Distantly, she knew her muscles would ache from renewed use in the morning, but for now they performed admirably. She felled MT after MT from her tower, giving precedence to those that were closest to the Hydraean. She had only so much range—she couldn’t reach the Goddess’ northern flank with her bow, but she could distantly see what was happening. She gave information as it came, otherwise remaining tucked in the nook and taking shots as she saw them. 

 

Later it was more of a curse and less of a blessing to see everything that was happening.

 

She watched Noctis strike the ground and remain where Leviathan had flung him. She fought the urge to scream—she couldn’t help him from where she was. She watched as an Imperial ship lowered onto Luna’s platform—the man who stepped out could only have been the chancellor. But she couldn’t hit him—her bow wouldn’t reach—she couldn’t stop him from approaching Luna, or halt the sharp motion of his knife. 

 

“Prompto! Get to Noctis. He’s due east of you. Gladio—can you reach Luna?”

 

_ “On my way!”  _ Prompto’s voice said over her earpiece; she could see him changing course even as he spoke.

 

_ “Not without swimming, and I don’t wanna go in there right now. She’s cut off. What’s wrong?” _

 

“Izunia—” Reina said his name like it was dirty, but before she could elaborate a beam of light shot up from the Oracle’s trident. 

 

Noctis glowed. Actually  _ glowed  _ and rose up from the stone pavement as if lifted on wings. Reina watched, eyes wide, as the power of their ancestors wrapped around him like a tangible thing.

 

“Whoa…” she breathed, dumbstruck. “I don’t… think he’s going to need help anymore, Prompto…”  

 

So awed was she by the physical manifestation of the line of the Lucii—in her  _ brother _ —that she nearly forgot she had a job of her own to do. From where she stood it seemed only a matter of time before Noctis earned Leviathan’s blessing. The Imperials couldn’t gain ground as quickly as he would, and Ignis seemed to have succeeded in the north. 

 

_ “Reina? What’s happening?”  _  It was Ignis’ voice on the line, this time, asking for an update from her vantage.

 

Reina was too preoccupied with what  _ was  _ happening to immediately respond. Noctis had fallen from the sky—if it could be called that much—and lay on the altar with Luna, apparently unconscious once more. Her stomach squirmed with nerves for him. As if one God in the bay wasn’t enough, Titan rose up from the water, a mountain in the sea.

 

_ “Reina—!?” _

 

“Noctis is down, but—he’s with Luna on the altar. I don’t know how long she’ll last, Ignis. Izunia—he… he stabbed her.”

 

The earth shook as concentric walls of stone rose from the water. 

 

_ “What was that?”  _ Gladio asked.

 

“Titan,” Reina said. “The Arcaeon is standing for Noctis.”

 

_ “The Arcaeon is in Altissia?”  _ Ignis asked.

 

Down in the city below she spotted the three of them, having reunited once more. Ignis looked up at her, his hand at his ear.

 

“We have to get to them—the bay is crawling with Imperials, and if they get to him first—” Reina decided not to finish that thought. In addition to the immediate danger, there was the unknown status of Noct’s health. Was he injured as well? Luna certainly was. “I’ll come down—”

 

_ “No. Stay where you are. We can use the eyes,”  _ Ignis said immediately.

 

He was probably right, though she didn’t much want to admit it. She stayed, still holding her bow and relegated to lookout for the duration. And speaking of looking out…

 

“Imperials incoming!”

 

She watched the three of them scramble for safety as the magitek engine crashed into the bridge they occupied. Ignis moved too slowly.

 

“Ignis!”

 

Her heart stopped. She dropped her bow and leaned over the railing, searching the canal below for signs of him. 

 

_ “Reina! Can you see him?”  _

 

From where they stood on the broken walkway, Reina could see Gladio looking up at her. She shook her head. “Nothing—but there are buildings in the way of the canal. If he’s in the water…”

 

If he was in the water she hoped for all she was worth that he wasn’t unconscious. 

 

She continued to scan the nearby walkways for signs of him, chewing her bottom lip and hardly daring to breathe. Below, Gladio and Prompto backtracked to find a safer way down. 

 

“Please be safe, Ignis…” Reina murmured, clenching her hands against the railing as she leaned over. 

 

Bullets hit the stone behind her head. Reina ducked, then swore. 

 

_ Stupid, stupid _ . She cursed herself, dropping down to shelter and reaching for her bow again. If she didn’t want to take a sniper’s bullet to the skull, she couldn’t afford to spend all her attention looking for Ignis. This was a time to be present in every sense of the word.

 

She rose once more, nocking an arrow and taking rapid aim across the rooftops. She felled the MT that had shot at her, then the others beside it. 

 

_ “Prompto!” _

 

That was Ignis’ voice. Her heart leapt and she had to resist the urge to tap the talk button and tell him as much. But this was not the time.

 

_ “Iggy! I thought you were a goner!” _

 

_ “It’ll take more than a little seawater. I’m more worried about Noct—Reina, how do I get to the altar?” _

 

Reina fumbled for her earpiece. “Where are you?”

 

_ “A moment.” _

 

She waited, this time wise enough to keep an arrow at the ready as she left the line on, keeping her eyes open for MTs as well as Ignis.

 

_ “Southeast, Your Highness.” _

 

In the indicated direction she spotted Ignis waving to her. Her eyes flicked up toward the altar, where Titan still stood guard over Noctis. Leviathan was gone, but the Imperials were doing their best to break the Arcaeon once more.

 

“There’s a bridge to the east; it cuts straight across toward the altar.”

 

_ “On my way.”  _

 

As fate would have it, the east bridge was never meant to take Ignis to Noct’s side. From her perch, Reina covered his advance, taking out as many MTs in his path as she could as often as she could. But she couldn’t stop the missiles that knocked out the bridge before he crossed—she was only thankful it happened before he was too far along to get out of the way again. 

 

_ “Blast! Reina—find me a new route!” _

 

She shook her head, though she knew he couldn’t see from where he was. “There’s nothing, Ignis. Not on the land. You’ll have to go through the water to get to him.”

 

_ “Then I’ll need a boat.” _

 

It was unusual to watch Ignis—calm, in-control Ignis—lose his composure, but that was just what he did. This time it was him that Gladio snapped at. In spite of everything, he took it better than Reina would have. They were trapped like rats in a fishbowl with Noct and Luna on the outside; she felt just as helpless as he did—more so, stuck in her tower watching the city crumble around them. All she could do was clear the streets and watch her own skin. If they wanted her eyes where they were then she couldn’t move, couldn’t help Noct except to help the others reach him.

 

Ignis got his boat from Accordo’s commander, but it didn’t take him to Noctis. 

  
  


“Ravus?”

 

There were few things that might have stopped her in her tracks with her brother and Ignis so close, but crossing paths once more with Ravus threw her mind for a loop.

 

Or was it Imperial High Commander, now?

 

“Reina,” Ravus said. “You brother is well enough—due, in no small part, to his loyal retainer.”

 

Ignis.

 

“And Luna…?” Reina asked, trying to make her mind fit disjointed pieces together. She was speaking to Ravus.  _ Ravus _ , her childhood friend. Or wasn’t she?

 

“My sister…” He dropped his gaze. “Was not so fortunate.”

 

_ Luna _ .

 

Reina shut her eyes. Luna, dead? They had fought so hard for her—Noctis had fought so hard for her—but  _ Luna  _ had fought hard to reach that point, her own sacrifice in the name of the king. It was what she had always meant, wasn’t it?

 

“Oh, Ravus…” She didn’t tell him she was sorry—while it was true, she knew it wouldn’t fix anything, wouldn’t even improve anything. She reached out to touch his arm, forgetting momentarily who he was— _ what  _ he was.

 

Ravus jerked away compulsively, but seemed to regret it as soon as he was out of reach. The snarl on his face softened as he looked at her. 

 

“Your brother… he is the Chosen One, is he not?”

 

“Yes,” she said simply.

 

“I thought once that no such king could be born of a coward like your father, but even that I struggled to bring to terms with what I knew of you—not weak, not a craven; strong and dutiful… like Lunafreya.” He took the step toward her, undoing the distance he had put between them when she reached out. This time he reached out, brushing his fingers over her cheek.

 

Reina turned her face away from him. “My father was not a coward. He did his duty. He sacrificed everything to protect the Chosen King: first Tenebrae and your mother, then Insomnia and his own life.”

 

Whatever warmth she might have felt at glimpsing Ravus behind the Commander turned bitter and cold in the pit of her stomach. Her father was everything. He hadn’t deserved the end that the empire had given him.

 

Ravus hand dropped away. “I know not what to believe anymore,” he said, darkness and bitterness tinging his voice. “Go, then. Go to your king. Tell him I await in Gralea… with your father’s glaive.”

 

He turned and walked away and Reina let him go. She didn’t ask him to stay, though it seemed clear he had abandoned the empire, that a little part of him finally believed in Noctis. He could go back to Gralea on his own, if that was what he thought of her father.

 

Reina turned her back on him and hurried down the crumbling stone causeway toward the two people on the far end. 

 

“Noctis!”

 

She dropped to her knees beside her brother, feeling at his neck for a pulse. He was unconscious but his pulse was strong enough. Drained, more likely than not. 

 

Beside him, Ignis coughed and Reina turned toward him.

 

His  _ eyes _ . 

 

_ Gods _ , his eyes; what had they done to him?

 

“Ignis?”

 

She touched his shoulder gently as he writhed, gasping in pain. His glasses were beside him, shattered. Like his eyes. 

 

It was more a burn than a cut, ashy white and scorched into his skin, just around each eye as if they had caught fire from within. 

 

“Reina…” He didn’t look at her, she suspected, because he couldn’t see anything at all anymore. “Noctis?”

 

“I think he’ll be fine,” Reina said, releasing Ignis’ shoulder to fumble for a potion. “Just sit tight for a moment—Gladio and Prompto are on their way.”

 

She kept a bottle of water on her person for battle—partially because she couldn’t enchant anything unless she had something to enchant, and partially because battle was thirsty business. 

 

“Shut your eyes.” She unscrewed the top and twisted her magic up into it, like she had done a hundred times before. Placing one hand behind his head, she gingerly poured it over his wounds, careful to keep from flooding his mouth and nose. Ignis winced at the contact, but didn’t object.

 

When the bottle was empty she discarded it, trusting in her magic to help cleanse and expedite his body’s natural healing. With his face mostly clean, she inspected his wounds more carefully. 

 

They  _ were  _ burns, but not from fire. 

 

Her eyes flicked to his side, where the Ring of the Lucii lay near his outstretched hand, and her breath caught. 

 

Her father’s ring. The ring that, until that moment, she believed had gone to the imperials when they killed him. Instead, it was laying there in Altissia, and Ignis bore wounds that looked like the burns the crystal etched into the skin of those who used its power too carelessly. 

 

As much as she wanted to, there was no time to dwell on it, now. Later, perhaps, she would ask Ignis. For now what mattered was getting both of them somewhere safe to rest and recover. His eyes… they were gone. Whatever had happened with the ring, it had taken his sight as payment. 

 

Reina shut her own burning eyes as her vision blurred. Ignis had escaped with his life, but if he had to live without sight… it would not be an easy task, on the path they walked. But this was a poor time to worry about that, as well. What mattered was getting him safely healed, keeping him as well as could be expected. 

 

For a moment she hesitated, still holding Ignis’ head carefully, just an inch above the ground. It seemed stupid to worry about letting his hair rest in blood and runoff water, but if she didn’t focus on the small things she would go mad over the big ones. She shifted so that his head could rest in her lap instead and felt a little better for it. A little.

 

She drew her boot knife and cut a long strip from the bottom of her shirt, fashioning a bandage and tying it around his eyes. The next thing was to get him out of here—somewhere he could rest and recuperate—but she couldn’t do that on her own. It meant waiting for Gladio to reach them. 

 

They sat for a moment, not speaking but not in complete silence. Her magic would work, but it would take time; until then it didn’t take much to see the pain he was in, squirming and gasping as his face burned with unseen flames. Reina caught hold of his hands and held onto them as he coughed. There was little else she could do.

 

Eventually he managed a few more words.  “How bad?”

 

The truth, or a careful lie? Reina sighed. He wouldn’t thank her for a lie; this was something he would have to learn and accept, eventually.

 

“Your eyes are both badly burned. That will heal, but your sight… it seems unlikely.”

 

He didn’t say anything, but she saw the way his jaw tightened, felt his body tense and his hands hold hers more tightly. She extracted one of her hands to smooth his messy hair from his face. Whatever happened, they would make it. He was alive and that was what mattered. She wasn’t going to let anything else happen to him.


	36. A Light in the Dark

######  _ 24 June, 756: _

_ (A month and a week after) _

 

Luna was dead.

 

At the time, she hadn’t felt it. When she had heard Ravus say the words, she had still been numb with adrenaline and fear for her brother and Ignis, but in the hours that followed when everything grew quiet, she felt it.

 

One more failure to add to their resume. One more death in their wake. One more member of their family, gone.

 

In spite of the years time and space that had stretched between them, Luna  _ had  _ been family. She was the sister that Reina never had, the guiding light that led Noctis down his path, and she was everything Reina had always wanted to be. 

 

And now she was gone, before any of them had really gotten to see her again.

 

The ache Reina felt was nothing compared to the pain at her father’s death—it was something more like dark resignation—and she knew it was nothing to what Noctis would feel when he found out. 

 

Noctis.

 

He had yet to wake. He would. But not today. She felt assured of that. Not in the blind, childish way that she had felt assured he would awake when they were eight and that daemon had cut him nearly in two, but with certain knowledge. She knew it without knowing why. Her brother would wake. Physically, he would be fine… but when he learned of Luna he would wish he hadn’t woken at all.

 

She knew because she had felt the same, a month ago.

 

After that, she couldn’t say what would happen.

 

Gladiolus, Prompto, and her had all emerged relatively unscathed. The people of Accordo, as well. The same could not be said of Altissia, but already repairs were underway. And, in spite of the First Secretary’s insistence that they be on their own after the ritual, she had offered them succor once the Empire withdrew. It was just as well. They weren’t going anywhere with Noctis as he was.

 

And Ignis…

 

Ignis was another matter altogether.

 

“You put on the ring, didn’t you?”

 

Ignis blinked unseeing eyes up at the ceiling. His hands dragged over the surface of the bed he lay on, as if trying to discern where he was. Perhaps she shouldn’t have sprung such a question on him as soon as he woke, but it had been eating at her for hours. As long as he slept she wondered. 

 

Eventually Gladio and Prompto had fallen asleep. They were all worn to the bone after an exceedingly long day, but Reina knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep.

 

“Yes,” Ignis responded at length. His hands went to his face, touching the bandage that rested across his eyes tenderly.

 

Her stomach squirmed, but she didn’t ask the question she really wanted the answer to. Instead she shifted to sit on the edge of his bed and resettled his blankets, answering  _ his  _ unspoken question. “We’re still in Altissia. The First Secretary has taken us in, but perhaps only because Weskham asked nicely.”

 

In turn, Ignis answered the question she hadn’t asked. Somehow he knew.

 

“I didn’t see him, Reina,” Ignis caught her hand and turned his head toward her, like a reflex even though he couldn’t see. “Nor did I hear him. I’m sorry.”

 

She didn’t say anything because she knew if she opened her mouth only a sob would come out. A tear escaped down her cheek, anyway, though she kept her jaw clamped shut. The only response she could give him was to squeeze his hand. Foolishly she had thought— _ hoped _ —but no matter… it had been stupid, anyway.

 

Eventually Ignis fell asleep once more. Her questions answered—unsatisfactory as she found the conclusion—Reina wandered. Her feet took her to Noctis’ room, where her twin slumbered still. The ring sat on his bedside table, waiting for him to wake—just like the rest of them. She turned away from it and dropped onto his bed, feeling homesick for the warm embrace of the Regalia. The closest she could get, now, was here with her brother. Perhaps it would allow her enough solace to sleep. 

  
  


“Ignis?”

 

It was evening, almost exactly one day later. When she had left his room less than an hour previously, he had been asleep; when she returned his bed was empty.

 

“Everything is… darkness.”

 

His voice drew her eyes to the other side of the room. He stood by the window with his fingers pressed against the glass; it must have been the only way he could tell he was standing by the window at all.

 

Reina’s heart ached for him. If only there was  _ something  _ she could do. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t heal his eyes, she couldn’t give him back what he had lost, she couldn’t return light and color to his world. All she could do was stand beside him, laying her hand lightly on his elbow so he knew where she was.

 

“I’ll never read again,” he said, not turning toward her.

 

Her mind summoned up countless memories of Ignis reading; everything he could lay his hands on he would read. It was something they had in common, growing up. She tried to imagine a world without literature. Somehow, it was easier than imagining a world in which Ignis never read.

 

She pressed her hand over his, drawing his fingers away from the window. 

 

“Then I’ll read to you.”

 

“The princess reading for the royal advisor. Highly unusual,” he commented. It was more bitter than wry, though she suspected he had given sarcasm an attempt.

 

“Given the state of our kingdom, I’m sure Lucis won’t collapse over that peculiarity.”

 

It might collapse due to any other number of troubles, but not that one.

 

Ignis turned his face toward her; he hazarded a smile and it came out hesitant, but not wholly unhappy. She was pleased to see it.

 

“Perhaps not.”

 

There was a knock at the door, though it was standing open. Ignis released her hand, as if burned; Reina gave him a curious glance, but turned to look at Gladio and Prompto standing in the door instead of dwelling on it.

 

“Hey. How you feeling, Iggy?” Gladio asked.

 

“Well enough,” Ignis managed, sounding more at ease than Reina knew he felt.

 

“We’re gonna go get some grub. You two wanna come?”

 

“Yes, thank you; I believe food would be good,” Reina said. She glanced at Ignis and for a moment she saw then tension in his jaw. It faded nearly before she registered, like he had forced himself to relax.

 

“Yes, of course. I will be right along. Go on ahead.”

 

Seeing Gladio and Prompto hesitate and guessing that Ignis wanted them gone, Reina said, “I’ll walk with him.”

 

Ignis didn’t object. Gladio and Prompto seemed to accept this, and went on ahead. Once they were gone, she touched his arm lightly.

 

“Ignis?”

 

“I appreciate their concern for me, but I cannot help but wonder how much is concern for what I won’t be able to do in the future.”

 

“I guarantee Prompto hasn’t thought that far ahead,” Reina said, threading her arm with his and guiding him carefully toward the door. Gladio was a different matter altogether. It was possible that he was thinking about that, underneath the concern. In all that had happened, she hadn’t taken a moment to speak with Gladio; there was still some unvoiced tension between them after her harsh words and his lack of confidence in her. Given their past history of not speaking about things, she suspected it would just hover over them until the passage of time made the emotions less sharp.

 

“Are you concerned about what you won’t be able to do in the future?” Reina asked, instead of guessing at Gladio’s thoughts. It seemed far more relevant what  _ Ignis  _ was thinking.

 

He was silent. She didn’t push, simply waited. They walked slowly, Ignis still growing accustomed to walking without knowledge of where he was going—even with her guiding him it must have been uncomfortable—and Reina couldn’t help but be reminded of walking alongside her father while his knee troubled him.

 

“How can I protect Noctis if I cannot see him?” That bitter tone was back. He kept it all closed up inside like he didn’t want the others to see it. So why could he show it to her?

 

“Ignis. We both know that you do much more than that. Your purpose is not limited to your ability to fight for my brother.”

 

Ignis shook his head, vehement. “Without sight, I will not even be able to protect myself. I will become a liability—a danger to the others.”

 

Reina stopped walking. She stepped in front of him, reaching up to put her hands on either side of his face, though she knew he couldn’t see her expression. There was a fire in her stomach. It wasn’t  _ anger _ ; not at Ignis, leastways, but it was fierce and staunch. She couldn’t feel frustrated with him for his self-doubt; she had been in much the same position for a month and he had never once told her to pick herself up and get over it, as if it was some sort of choice. No, what she felt was a burning desire to put everything right. However she could. Single-handedly, if necessary.

 

“Then I will do that, as well,” Reina said in a tone that allowed no argument.

 

Surprise was a peculiar expression on a face with closed eyes. 

 

“Your Highness—“

 

“No one is going to leave you behind, Ignis. I don’t need you to believe in yourself, right now; I just need you to hold on tight and listen when I tell you that  _ I know you can do this _ . It looks impossible right now, but we will find a way. I don’t believe you’ll never fight again. I don’t believe you’ll never read again. I don’t believe you’ll never cook again. But it’s not going to be easy and you are going to have to relearn everything you already knew how to do. So until then, everything that you cannot do—everything you struggle with as you learn— _ I will do for you. _ ” He couldn’t see her face, so she put into her voice everything she felt; the unrestrained passion and undaunted belief, the unwavering trust and that hotly protective feeling in her stomach. 

 

“I will be your sight.”

 

_...I will be your strength. _

 

_...I will be your blade. _

 

Reina shut her eyes, her own words echoing in her ears. He reminded her  _ so much  _ of her father, today. Was that why she felt as she did? 

 

Ignis’ hands settled on her forearms. “I cannot let myself become an imposition. If I fall behind—“

 

_...I fear I have become an encumbrance to you… _

 

“If you fall behind then I will move more slowly,” Reina retorted firmly, not giving him the opportunity to finish his objection. “Do not ask me to go on without you because  _ that  _ I cannot do. Not ever again.”

 

There was surprise on his face again, but this time it was followed by resignation… or was it understanding?

 

“No, Your Highness.”

  
“Good,” Reina said. That settled everything, so far as she was concerned. They would make it through.  _ This time _ she wouldn’t fail.


	37. A King Without

######  _ Fall, 754: _

_ (Two years before) _

 

It was a rare occasion, these days, that Reina stayed out overnight. She hadn’t even spent the night with Noctis for more than six months. It was simply an impossible task to find the time anymore. If she stayed with Noct she invariably stayed up all night and then had to be back in the Citadel for morning meetings, court, and a slew of other responsibilities with no pause for rest. Staying with Noctis meant foregoing sleep for forty-eight hours and, as she told her brother matter-of-factly, she just didn’t love him that much.

 

But that night was her good friend Elynor’s birthday celebration. It had been nearly two years since Reina had trimmed down her social outings in favor of staying close to the Citadel. It was just possible to make an obligatory appearance at parties as necessary without offending anyone, but a twentieth birthday called for something more. The last thing she wanted was for her friends to believe she didn’t care. Well. The second to last thing.

 

So she had cleared her evening schedule and checked in with her father to ensure he was well and truly fine. He promised her he was and she believed him. And so, with the warning that she might well be out very late—but with the insistence that she would be available by phone should he need anything at all—she bid the king goodbye and went out to meet her friends.

 

Nights in Insomnia were  _ beautiful _ .

 

It was easy to get wrapped up in technical details of running a kingdom and forget to enjoy it; Reina  _ had  _ forgotten. She went out so infrequently that she had forgotten just how much she loved the Crown City. 

 

It was never really dark. It was never really asleep. When the sun went down the lights turned on and the music turned up. She could have walked down Caelum Street and passed a dozen clubs and hundreds of people. Before she could do that, though, she had to find her friends.

 

She was dropped at the street corner, along with Nyx Ulric—her shadow for the night. Usually an excursion away from the Citadel meant Reina was accompanied by one or more crownsguards, but that night, for whatever reason, her father had requested she bring one of the Kingsglaive. The precise motivations she couldn’t guess at. The Crownsguard was made up, more or less, or ordinary men and women who were highly trained to protect the royal family and the Crown City. The Kingsglaive, on the other hand, were an elite group—mostly Lucians from beyond the Wall—who had shown an affinity for wielding His Majesty’s magic. The only reason to send a Kingsglaive instead of a crownsguard was if he was expecting trouble.

 

Or he was just being fretful. That wasn’t like him.

 

Reina took a moment to appreciate the night; it was crisp and cool with the lingering smell of damp in the air. Overhead the stars were blotted out by clouds, as was common that time of year. Perhaps, if they were lucky, there would be snow in the morning. 

 

But, as she was dressed for the warm interior of the beckoning club and not for snow, she didn’t linger more than that moment. She slipped beneath the shining neon sign, which read ‘Eclipse,’ and into the dark and pounding interior. Her Kingsglaive companion followed, at her elbow no matter where she turned. She was accustomed to it. For his part, he seemed to have no trouble following her as she wove through the crowd, heading for the cordoned-off loft. 

 

Predictably, Reina drew eyes as she passed through. Nyx must have formed an imposing sight, though, because no one approached her. In the end, she united with the group of four girls in the upper section, being admitted without question.

 

“ _ Rei! _ Oh,  _ Astrals _ , I’m so happy you made it!” Elynor greeted her with a hug that was more a pounce. Reina weathered it, grinning broadly. They, along with the other three girls, had been close friends since middle school: Elynor, Ismay, Braya, Selph, and Reina. 

 

“Nevermind Rei, who’s the hunk?” Ismay broke off from the group to approach, but she didn’t spare a glance for Reina.

 

Reina glanced between Ismay and Nyx—who had no reaction whatsoever. He stood at parade rest and looked at none of them. If he had any opinions about being admired by the princess’ friends, he was too good at his job to let it show.

 

“That’s Nyx. He’s working; leave him alone.”

 

“No fair, bringing a hot bodyguard to my birthday and calling hands-off.” Elynor’s carefully painted lips made a cute pout. She batted long lashes at Nyx for a moment—he didn’t spare her a glance— before turning abruptly. “Oh well. Come on, Reina, have a round! You’re already behind.”

 

Reina made a face, allowing herself to be dragged along toward the table. “ _ I’m  _ not twenty yet.”

 

“Oh who  _ cares _ ,” Elynor rolled her eyes. “It’s not like anyone checks or does anything about it.”

 

She pushed a tall tube—which looked like it would have been more at home in a laboratory than a nightclub—into Reina’s hand and picked a second for herself. Reina smiled placidly, but didn’t fold.

 

“I’m afraid one more downside of being royalty is that everyone knows how old I am and that everyone  _ does  _ care what I do.” She gave a dramatic sigh, passing the drink to Ismay instead, “You plebs have life so easy.”

 

“Who are you calling a pleb?!” Ismay held the newly-acquired drink over Reina’s head, threatening to upend it. 

 

“Your beautiful self,” said Reina.

 

Ismay made a face that suggested this was an acceptable answer and took the shot instead of dumping it on Reina’s head.

 

“Now can I please just eat junk food and pretend I’m not weird for a couple hours, before I have to go back home and face the truth?”

 

It was a request that everyone agreed heartily to. Pizza with too much cheese, practically dripping with grease, waited for them at their table. As much as Reina knew her stomach was going to object in the morning, she indulged. Raucous laughter and rowdy conversation filled the air as they sat. It was nice to forget about everything for a little while.

 

After they were suitably fed and the others were suitably hydrated—if it could be called that—they descended to the lower level and disappeared onto the dance floor. It was a little harder to forget, there, where people were watching and she knew she needed to exercise some caution to avoid ending up on the front page of the morning paper. Somehow the headline  _ Princess Reina Dances Suggestively  _ or  _ Lucian Princess Has a Dancefloor Wardrobe Malfunction  _ didn’t sound much like good press. Pictures would be taken, regardless. Probably, blurry phone pictures of her dancing would decorate the tabloids for months. But that was just something to live with. For the most part Nyx kept the more annoying members of the crowd at bay.

 

Eventually they returned to their loft refuge for more pizza and whatever alcohol it was that filled the tube-shots. Raucous laughter became drunken laughter—Reina was convinced it was more entertaining to watch her friends make fools of themselves than to participate herself. They seemed to have a steadily decreasing ability to walk straight and speak clearly. There was a food fight. Then cheese-stuffed breadsticks replaced the pizza they had thrown at each other.

 

It was past midnight when Reina’s phone chimed with a text from her father.

 

_ How are you faring? _

 

Reina smiled, though she felt a twinge of guilt at having left him alone; he should have been in bed, by then!

 

_ There’s pizza on my blouse. Otherwise fine. You should be asleep! _

 

“Who’re you texting?” Elynor’s voice was too loud for how close she was sitting She leaned over, putting a hand on the back of Reina’s chair, apparently for balance. It wasn’t an overwhelmingly successful endeavor.

 

“Oh, you know. His Royal Majesty, King Regis Lucis Caelum the One Hundred Thirteenth,” Reina said casually.

 

“Duh,” said Ismay.

 

“Duh,” Reina agreed.

 

Her phone chimed again:  _ Are you drinking? _

 

Reina smiled and shook her head:  _ Of course not, Father. GO TO BED. _

 

“Why you gotta rub it in our faces that you’re on texting terms with the king?” Elynor said.

 

“Seriously! Who else has a dad that can text?!” Ismay yelled.

 

Reina grinned. “He usually calls, but I warned him it wouldn’t be a great environment for a phone conversation.”

 

“So, what does His Majesty say?” Elynor asked.

 

“Normal dad stuff. ‘Are you still alive?’ ‘Are you being irresponsible?’ “

 

“Boring.”

 

“Exactly. Let’s go dance,” Reina agreed.

 

“I’m bored of this club. Let’s go to Ophiuchus,” said Elynor.

 

So they went. The events there were much the same as in the Eclipse; Reina wasn’t positive what the point of changing clubs was, but it  _ was  _ interesting to see more interiors. Usually she just got to drive past them. 

 

They were on their way to a third club when Reina caught  _ Nyx  _ texting.

 

“Who are  _ you  _ texting?”

 

He looked at her, deadpan, and said: “His Royal Majesty, King Regis Lucis Caelum the One Hundred Thirteenth.”

 

She smiled brightly, “So you do have a sense of humor.”

 

He neither confirmed nor denied this.

 

She looked at her phone for the time. It was past two. “He’s still up?”

 

“Dunno. But I have instructions to provide regular updates all the same.”

 

“Geez. He doesn’t usually worry so much.” First the Kingsglaive escort, now he wanted updates from Nyx all night?

 

Her shadow didn’t respond—not that she had expected him to—but he had given her enough to think on.It was more difficult to distract herself for the remainder of the night. She spotted Nyx sending texts several more times throughout: each time they changed clubs and otherwise every hour on the hour. The king didn’t text her again. She  _ hoped  _ that he had gone to bed and that the updates were simply a precaution. Of course it made sense that someone should know where they were—probably the messages were going to Cor or Drautos, as well. She didn’t ask. She tried to be a normal nineteen year old for the rest of the night, since she had promised to stay out as long as they wanted.

 

As long as they wanted turned out to be dawn. There had been more than one unscheduled bathroom trip along their night but, miraculously, no one passed out. When the sky grew light and the clubs closed their doors, Elynor finally agreed that it was time to call it a night. 

 

They bid their goodbyes standing on the street, waiting for their rides home to arrive. 

 

Once Reina was tucked safely in the back of the car sent for her, she let out a breath and shut her eyes. It was going to be a  _ very  _ long day. 

 

It was seven by the time she reached the Citadel. She gave Nyx her thanks—he had been endlessly patient with the group of drunken twenty-year-olds shamelessly flirting with him—then she returned to her rooms to shower and change, swallowing a whole pot of coffee along the way. Still, she was forced to rush to make it to her morning meeting with the outer city planning committee. Reluctant as she was to not be able to check in with her father before going, there was simply no time. She made sure that word was sent to him and resigned herself to a caffeine-fueled morning meeting.

 

They concluded on time, surprisingly enough, and she was freed to attend court. The king was already in attendance when she arrived, so she was announced with due formality. As she climbed to the dais, the king rose to greet her. He looked wane. Concerningly so.

 

“Hello, Father. I apologize for my late return; I hope I did not concern you overmuch.” She gave him a hopeful smile as she came to stand before him, but he didn’t return it. His only response was to wrap her in his arms and hug her tightly. 

 

When he did release her, pulling back with his hands still on her shoulders, his eyes searched her face.

 

“I am pleased to have you back,” was all he said before he motioned her to take her seat beside him.

 

Reina did as she was bidden, but her mind dwelled, not on the matters of the court, but on her father. Had his voice sounded weaker, or was that her imagination? Had he not said more because they were in court, or because he did not know what to say, or because there  _ was  _ nothing to say? Had he actually stayed up waiting for each of Nyx’s updates? 

 

She fretted when she should have been attentive. Her own sleepless night was forgotten as she worried about how the king had fared without her. It was clear that he was tired. He shouldn’t have been so tired so early in the day unless he hadn’t slept well. And if he hadn’t that was  _ her  _ fault. 

 

There seemed little she could do for the moment, much as she hated it. She wished she could share her energy with him but knew he would never allow it. She set her hand over his, where it rested on the arm of his throne, and contented herself with the knowledge that she could do something when they broke for lunch.

 

They never made it that far.

 

It was not even eleven when her father tapped her hand with the signal that meant he wished to speak to her. She leaned across without question, putting her head near enough that she could hear when he spoke in an undertone—audible only to her.

 

“I need you to end this.”

 

In spite of all her training in neutral expressions, her eyes widened; she turned to look at him, wondering if he was actually asking what she was hearing. He didn’t look at her. He looked straight ahead with the obstinate, tight-jawed expression that he wore whenever he was struggling to hold onto his dignity.

 

“I cannot last another two hours,” he said, lips barely moving. “Close the court.”

 

His voice was firm with command, leaving no room for question or objection—not that she would have, anyway—but she knew how much it cost him to admit. If he was unwell enough to swallow his pride and  _ tell her  _ to halt the regularly scheduled session early….

 

“Yes, Father,” Reina murmured.

 

When the current audience was concluded and before the next began, Reina rose from her place, signalling to the attendants that they should not admit another. 

 

“That will be all for this day. We will resume this session tomorrow, as scheduled.” She used one of the voices she had carefully cultivated over the last year and a half: the one that sounded a bit like her father, leaving no space for questions.

 

No one questioned.

 

If they thought it was odd, they didn’t say so out loud. Not there, under the princess’ sharp gaze. She had come a long way from the night when her father’s councillors objected to the premature halting of their meeting. Today, the only responses her declaration was met with were bows and ‘Very well, Your Highness’s.

 

She turned to her father to help him from his throne. After a moment’s hesitation, she offered what she hadn’t dared to, before.

 

“I can give you my strength…”

 

He didn’t even look at her sharply, just wearily, as he shook his head and sighed, accepting her arm but not her offer. 

 

“Not even to save what little remains of my dignity.”

 

They took the steps down from his throne slowly, one at a time, and slipped out the rear door together. In the quiet hall beyond the throne room, he let out another sigh as he leaned more heavily on her arm. His limp, she noticed, was more pronounced; she did what she could to steady him.

 

“Your knee troubles you?”

 

He didn’t look at her. “My knee. My head and my neck. My shoulders and my back. Perhaps it would be shorter to list what does not trouble me.”

 

Reina squeezed his hand, her stomach twisting with guilt. “I will fix all of those things.”

 

He  _ did  _ look at her, then, coming to a halt in the middle of the hallway. His expression softened from the grim focus he had worn before as a mask. Beneath it there was exhaustion and pain, but even so he managed to smile at her, his eyes warming as he took his hand from hers and smoothed it over her hair.

 

“I know,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. 

 

She was at a loss for words, so she didn’t say any. It was confidence like she didn’t expect anyone to have in her, but always wanted to inspire. Was that why he had told her? Was  _ she  _ the reason he was willing to end court early? The warm feeling that flickered at the thought was almost enough to blot out the guilt she felt at having been the cause in the first place.

 

Almost.

 

They began walking again. It was a slow walk to the elevator and subsequently to the king’s chambers, but somehow they made it. Inside, the king dropped onto the edge of his bed and pulled off his crown. Reina stopped in front of him to remove his collar and relieve him of his more cumbersome formal clothing so that he could get some rest. Before she had done more than the former, however, her father halted her by wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning against her. Sitting, his forehead just touched her sternum—it was odd to be taller than him, but not quite as odd as the unrestrained show of affection.

 

“Father?” 

 

Reina smoothed her hands over his hair and down the back of his neck, forgetting how cold they were until he made a sound of surprise.

 

“Sorry,” she apologized hurriedly, but he didn’t pull away and he didn’t allow her to; he caught one of her hands and held it in place until she rested both of them on the back of his neck once more.

 

“Continue. Please.”

 

Surprised, but unwilling to argue, Reina did as she was bidden. All the same, she couldn’t help but think that he would be considerably more comfortable if he would let her take his cape and knee brace, and climb properly into bed while she retrieved the little bottle of oil that had become commonplace in their day-to-day routine.

 

Yet again she wondered if he had slept at all the night before. Would he even tell her if she asked?  She elected not to. At least, not for the moment. Just then she was more concerned with what came next over what had been.

 

She ventured a suggestion, looking down at the top of his head, though her hands didn’t stop moving. “Will you let me make you more comfortable? I can handle your knee and your headache in proper time, so you can get some rest.”

 

He said nothing; not even wordless assent or disagreement. Had he actually fallen asleep like that? Reina pulled back to ascertain, resting her hands on his shoulders. As soon as she did so, he answered the question for her: he made a sound of objection as soon as she stopped, his arms tightening around her when she tried to take a step back. Now it was Reina’s turn to sound surprised; she managed to keep her balance, in spite of her thwarted step. When her hands rested once more against the back of his neck, however, his hold loosened and he relaxed once more, still without saying a word.

 

Reina sighed inwardly. She continued, but only for a moment before making another attempt. She didn’t pull her hands away, but dropped down instead of stepping back, so that she rested on one knee before him. He  _ did  _ look at her then. Still weary, still uncomfortable, but now without the mask held in place by pride and dignity. 

 

“Let me do this properly, Father,” she said, her voice gentle but firm—not the sort of tone one usually used with a king, and certainly not one Reina usually used with her father. “You will feel better.”

 

He shut his eyes and sighed. Though he still didn’t say a word, he let his arms fall away from her. It seemed to be the closest she was going to get to an agreement. Reina took it. She didn’t give him another chance for objections as she set about methodically removing his layers and leaving them folded neatly on the end of the bed. When she was through and he sat propped among the pillows, Reina brought the bottle of magicked oil over and knelt on the bed beside him.

 

She began with his knee, though she could see an objection forming.

 

“You will fall asleep during the rest—or you  _ ought  _ to—so I must do this first,” Reina interrupted as soon as he opened his mouth. He shut it again with a snap, giving her a mournful look. 

 

Reina smiled in spite of herself as she rubbed oil over his knee. “No amount of tugging at my heartstrings will stir my mercy.”

 

_ He  _ smiled at that. He didn’t respond, however, until several minutes later, when his knee was no longer on the long list of troubles. By that time, she had very nearly forgotten that there was anything to respond to. But when she had directed him to lay on his stomach and uncorked the bottle once more, he spoke.

 

“You would be an excellent queen.”

 

Reina wrinkled her nose: it was an automatic reaction to being teased about her place in the monarchy. And she had little doubt that he  _ was  _ teasing her, because anything short of that made no sense. In any case, she was pleased that he was feeling well enough  _ to  _ tease her, now, though it took a moment for her to remember what had precipitated the remark.

 

“Because I have no mercy?” She asked dryly.

 

“It is an invaluable trait for a ruler.”

 

“And here I thought you meant it when you said I was kind.”

 

She saw the smile on his face, though his eyes were still shut, and she couldn’t help but mirror it. 

 

“That is an invaluable trait for a good person; the two are rarely the same.”

 

It was often said that good kings were seldom good people. She could see the point of the observation—often a king had to do what was in the best interest for the most of his people; that meant he wasn’t doing best by  _ some  _ of the people, but there was no place in the world for a ruler to dwell on that. As such, it was very easy for a king who rightly made firm decisions and never looked back to appear heartless. Pragmatically she understood that. From a personal point of view, she disagreed.

 

“You must be the exception,” she said.

 

Perhaps their ancestors had been good kings and poor men; Reina couldn’t say. But she did know for certain that her father was a good man.

 

“I shall pretend I did not hear that, so that I do not feel obligated to argue.”

 

Reina smiled. She let him pretend, just as he let her pretend that he had been teasing in the first place. Sometimes denial was the only way to handle an uncomfortable truth.

 

They persisted in silence for some time. It was strange to see the sun still up outside the window; the clock on the opposite wall said it wasn’t even noon, yet. Somehow, time seemed to stop at the door, here. Everything else did, too. Outside, stress and worry at having concluded court early pounded at her, lingering guilt at having been the cause coulded her mind, and concern for her father’s health loomed over everything. But closed up in his rooms with just the two of them, all their responsibilities fell away. Everything else she could fix. She  _ had  _ fixed. The king no longer looked exhausted and pained. In fact, he looked as if he had fallen asleep. 

 

Reina paused, sitting back on her heels and stifling a yawn. She had forgotten that  _ she  _ had been up all night, as well. Her eyes lingered on the blue sky outside the window for a moment before she moved, intent on drawing the curtains. Before she was off the bed, however, her father caught her wrist, effectively halting her.

 

He wasn’t quite as asleep as he looked, it seemed. She was surprised; with how worn he had looked, she hadn’t expected him to last so long. 

 

She looked at his fingers closed around her wrist and covered his hand with her free one. “Father?”

 

“Stay. Please.”

 

Surprised for a second time, Reina raised her eyebrows. 

 

“Of course.” She hadn’t intended to leave, but it spoke volumes that he went out of his way to ask her not to. “Just let me close the curtains; I’ll be right back.”

 

He released her slowly, as if he was doing it against his better judgement, and his eyes opened to watch her do just what she had said she would. Again she wondered at his unusual concern the night before. Had he really read all of those texts Nyx sent?

 

She returned to the bed, pulling the blankets up to cover his shoulders and settling in beside him. He watched her, certainly still awake but in the heavy-lidded sort of way that suggested he was fighting sleep.

 

“Did you sleep much, last night? I was afraid Nyx would wake you with his updates.”

 

He considered her for a moment before responding. 

 

“He did not wake me.”

 

It wasn’t a full answer. When he blinked next his eyes never opened again. She wondered if he intended to avoid the question altogether, or if he would just fall asleep before making a response. But as unwilling as he seemed to be to give an answer, he seemed more unwilling to sleep. He spoke.

 

“Perhaps I dozed in between. I am uncertain.”

 

In between the one-hour updates? Reina raised her eyebrows once again, though she knew he couldn’t see her expression. He had slept not at all or hardly at all—so little that he didn’t know if he had or not. And that had been her fault.

 

She sighed, running her hands over her face before wrapping her arms around his neck and snuggling closer. “I will not stay out like that again.”

 

“It was not your doing,” he insisted.

 

“No? Can you honestly say that you would not have slept any better, had I been here?” She leaned back to look at his face, though his eyes remained shut.

 

His silence was answer enough.

 

He had, to her knowledge, never struggled to sleep before. And her knowledge was fairly extensive, as of late.

 

“Well I am here, now. So get some sleep. It’s no good for you to be up all night.”

 

“Nor you.” His eyes flickered open to look at her, at last.

 

“ _ I  _ am nineteen,” she pointed out.

 

“A growing child who needs her rest.”

 

Reina made a face at him. “I haven’t grown in seven years. Now  _ go to sleep _ . I will sleep if you do.”

 

He looked at her for a moment, as if considering her proposition. Finally, with the ghost of a smile on his lips, he said, “We have an accord.”

  
  


It was a sleep so heavy that, when Reina woke, it was impossible to tell how much time has passed. With the blinds drawn she couldn’t see the color of the sky outside and the resulting the dim light, her sleep-fogged brain didn’t want to process the face of the clock. She woke in precisely the same position she had fallen asleep in, without knowing just what it was that had roused her. There was a heaviness in her limbs but, as thoughts began to trickle, one by one, back through her mind, she registered it as a pleasant feeling. Before her mind worked back around to wondering what had caused her to wake, a second knock at the door answered the question for her. 

 

She might have been inclined to ignore it and go back to sleep with the blankets over her head, but her father was still asleep and she preferred to leave him that way. So, in order to prevent a third knock or—worse yet—someone coming in to see what had become of the king after his unscheduled departure from court, she rose and went to the door, heedless of the state of her hair and wrinkled dress.

 

Outside she found Clarus.

 

“Your Highness. Is anything amiss? After this morning I had at least expected to see you at the afternoon council—as it was we were forced to hold the meeting without you.”

 

Reina stepped outside into the hall, shutting the door quietly behind her to keep the sounds of conversation from disturbing her father. She had to force her brain to put the pieces together. Afternoon council was at three. They usually went for a few hours at least, which meant it was after five at the earliest. Had they really slept for six hours? It seemed a blink.

 

“My apologies,” Reina murmured, trying to get her voice to work properly. She cleared her throat. “I had not intended to sleep through the whole day.”

 

Clarus raised his eyebrows at her. “And His Majesty?”

 

“Still asleep, but well enough. He ought be permitted the occasional day off.” If he thought her tone sounded defensive, he wasn’t offended by it.

 

“I quite agree. If such a thing arises unexpectedly in the future, please do not hesitate to call on my aid for filling any gaps.”

 

He was right and she knew it; she should have sent word to him in the first place And she knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t begrudge her father a rest. It was unfitting of her to get bent out of shape over it. And unfitting of her not to have had the foresight to do something earlier in the day.

 

“Another oversight on my part. I apologize again.” She bowed her head in deference to him.

 

When she looked back up at him he was studying her with a curious expression. He glanced sideways at the crownsguards who stood on either side of her; every one of them knew not to repeat scraps of conversation overheard while they were working, but there was often still a formality held in their presence. It accounted for Clarus’ use of titles, when usually he would have referred to her and the king by name. But for a moment, he dropped it.

 

“Reina.” He rested a hand on her shoulder, looking earnestly at her. “At nineteen you do more in this kingdom than I do. You can be forgiven some forgetfulness where concern for your father is due. You can be forgiven a night of lighthearted celebration, as well. But even if you forget every responsibility you have taken upon yourself, try not to forget that you are not alone here. Whatever Regis would have you believe, it is not a weakness to ask for or accept aid.”

 

Surprised and a little confused by his sudden earnest advice, Reina had to duck her head to hide her blush. 

 

“Thank you,” she mumbled, a tone more befitting a nineteen year old than a de-facto monarch. When she looked back up at him, he was smiling. “I believe my father will continue to rest for the evening. If you could see to matters in his stead, we would both be grateful.”

 

“Of course.” He bowed. “And yourself?”

 

“‘I’ll be with him. If you see Gladiolus, please tell him I won’t be training with him, tonight.”

 

“I will. Enjoy your rest, Reina.”

 

Back inside, Reina checked the clock to find her guess had been close: half past five. So much for lunch. 

 

“Who was it?”

 

Startled, Reina turned to find her father still abed but rather more awake than she had expected, watching her contemplate the clock.

 

“I thought you were asleep,” she scolded halfheartedly, coming to sit on the edge of his bed.

 

“ _ I  _ thought we had an agreement.”

 

“I did sleep!”

 

“As did I.” He smiled; she was pleased to see the return of his good humor. “Are you going to tell me who came to my door, or shall I have to wait until I hear later, from the source, of some new expectation placed upon me?”

 

Reina stuck her tongue out at him. “It was just Clarus. He came to check on you.”

 

“And you were rude to him.”

 

“I—what? I was not!” No one but her father could reduce the usually-calm princess to sputtering indignation.

 

He smiled widely. “It is of no use, lying to me. You are  _ always  _ sharp when you are worried. Poor Clarus comes to see to his friend and finds himself, instead, face to face with my overprotective daughter: hissing like a cat over her kittens. Tell me the truth: you said to him that it was none of his business if I chose to take a day off, did you not?”

 

Reina flushed scarlet. She opened her mouth to deny the accusation—she hadn’t, after all, said such a thing—but stopped, remembering that what she  _ had  _ said was much the same. She shut her mouth.

 

The king’s laugh was a low rumbling, warm and pleasant like the smell of coffee on a cold morning. It was hard to be indignant with him when he laughed like that. Reina tried, anyway.

 

She wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue to hide the upturn of her smile, then crossed her arms over her chest, the picture of a pouting princess.

 

“A hissing cat, am I? Your  _ overprotective _ daughter?”

 

“Quite so,” his laughter faded, but his smile remained. He pushed himself upright and sat leaning against the headboard. “It is supposed to be the other way around; are you aware?”

 

“The overprotective father?” Reina raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, you’ve had your chance. Not that I recall seeing much of it.”

 

“You never gave me the proper opportunities,” he said, suddenly mournful, as if the thought of having not been able to chase away numerous boyfriends was akin to having never seen the ocean. “You were  _ supposed to  _ bring home droves of young men so that I could tell you they were unbefitting one such as yourself.”

 

“So sorry to disappoint,” Reina said dryly.

 

“You ought be! I have the perfect position for it; just think how intimidated your young men would be.” He sat up straight and put on the stern, kingly mask he wore in court. When he spoke again it was with a voice to match: “So. You desire to date my daughter. Tell me: what are your qualifications? Your parentage? Your  _ education _ ?”

 

Reina’s hold on her indignation slipped. The smile that worked its way across her face was impossible to fight; it only grew as her father persisted, and culminated in a fit of giggles.

 

His kingly persona dropped—once more she was sitting in a room with her father instead of King Regis: “You, meanwhile, might stand nearby and look suitably embarrassed and exasperated.”

 

“Oh I might, might I?”

 

“That is what is done,” he said simply.

 

“Well I’m so sorry not to have given you that opportunity.”

 

“The time is early, yet. You might still take pity on an old man and try to get engaged—I shall have to refuse, of course, but you may try.”

 

“I’m afraid it’s too late, father,” Reina patted his knee sympathetically. “I’ve been promoted to your mother, remember?”

 

“I daresay I can manage a defrocking.”

 

“Defrock the king’s mother?” Reina said with mock horror, “How would you even begin?”

 

“It is a simply process,” he took her hand, covering it with both of his. “All that must be done is to return you to a state of  _ daughter _ .”

 

With the last word he dragged at her hand, catching her and rolling her onto the bed. Reina, caught unaware, had to consciously  _ not  _ respond with a counter. Too many hours of combat practice instilled certain reflexes that, when one belonged to a family notorious for horseplay, became inconvenient in social situations. Breaking the king’s nose, she suspected, would have been frowned upon.

 

She managed to allow him to throw her, only letting out a single, startled cry as she landed on his other side. It didn’t remain solitary for long. No sooner was she on the bed than his hands were at her sides, picking out every half-remembered ticklish spot from her youth.

 

How did he even remember where she was ticklish?!

 

There was no point trying to formulate an intelligent response. In an instant she was breathless with screams of laughter, squirming and struggling to escape as she clutched at his hands. Her screams mingled with the low roll of the king’s chuckle. He deftly avoided her flailing limbs, his hands slipping from her grasp time and time again, instead finding a new place that only made her squeal more loudly.

 

Any minute, now, the crownsguards outside would burst in to save her.

 

It was her one hope, as she fought for air against the involuntary reaction to being tickled. No one who had never been so mercilessly assaulted could understand the impossible mix of pain and euphoria that resulted. Not one person had ever  _ wanted  _ to continue being tickled. And yet, when it was through, no matter how much they wanted it to stop before, it didn’t seem so bad in hindsight.

 

The crownsguards never came. Perhaps because she was laughing and he was laughing, and every third gasping breath was punctuated by:

 

“Dad— _ stop! _ ”

 

Eventually he did.

 

Reina lay, eyes shut, catching her breath in the relief that followed. She didn’t resist when he pulled her close in a hug.

 

“There, now. All is complete;  _ mothers  _ cannot be tickled. Only daughters have that privilege.”

 

She opened one eye to glare at him. “I think we will have to agree to disagree about what constitutes ‘privilege’.”

 

He smiled. She smiled. He kissed her head and held her all the more tightly, and it was agreed: the open trust, the warmth of love and indignation all mixed up together in the moments of tickling and the elated relief that followed… that was the highest privilege. 


	38. Thicker than Water

######  _Winter, 755_ _:_

_ (A year and a half before) _

 

It was the time of year when classes picked up once more at the university, resuming after a winter break. Reina hadn’t yet told her father that she had allowed the registration deadline to slip by without signing up for any classes. She knew it would mean an argument and she wanted to avoid it—but she also knew it was easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask permission. If she had told him she didn’t intend to register  _ before  _ the deadline had passed he would have insisted and she would have been forced to do as he wished. Now there was no choice. She couldn’t register, even if she wanted to.

 

In spite of knowing that the topic would come up eventually, when the king brought up the subject of school that night over dinner, it filled her with a feeling of cold dread.

 

“When do your classes begin again?”

 

The bottom dropped out of her stomach. She set her fork down, feeling more sick than hungry, suddenly. It would do her no credit to appear to regret her decision, though; come what may, she would stand and take it.

 

“I have not registered for any.”

 

There was a silence—tense and straining under what was to come, nothing at all like the comfortable silences they shared night after night. It was like the silence caused by all of the birds fleeing the path of a predator. 

 

The king set down his fork.

 

“You have not registered for any,” he repeated.

 

“No, Father.”

 

“And why?” His voice, would-be casual, set the hairs on the back of her neck on end.

 

“Because I do not intend to continue my studies. I have weighed the costs and benefits and determined that it is not prudent to return.” Just like anything else. Just like running the kingdom. Trim the bad parts and nourish the good. University was draining more from her life than it was giving back and she couldn’t afford to go any longer.

 

He considered her for a long while. Reina fought not to squirm under his gaze.

 

At length he sighed, the irritation fading from his face. “Here I have taught you to make the most efficient decision and face the consequences, accepting that there will always be some… and you have turned and used it against me.”

 

He gave her a melancholy smile; it wasn’t  _ much  _ better than anger might have been, but she was still glad he wasn’t vexed at her. Or not  _ too  _ vexed, at least.

 

“I’m sorry, Father. I cannot justify it any longer. The work I do at your side is considerably more important—for everyone. I know you want me to have time for myself, to make friends and spend time with them, but no amount of living life or having fun could justify the time spent,” Reina managed to keep her voice even; she hated to disappoint him, but she hated leaving for hours a day more—the disappointment would fade, at least. The hours she spent away taxed everyone, every day, all term. And—though she would never say it to him—since that night in December they both knew a time was fast approaching when he simply wouldn’t be able to do without her.

 

“I had hoped…” Her father sighed again, running his hand over his beard and sitting back in his chair. “But I suppose it brings you no joy, nor satisfaction, to be there. Does it, here? Or is this merely a sense of duty that you chase?”

 

Reina’s forced calm slipped, allowing something of the girl to show through. She couldn’t quite understand his focus on what it was  _ she  _ wanted, but she wasn’t going to let him believe for an instant that this wasn’t it.

 

“Of course it does, Father! This time I spend with you is my favorite time.” She meant it, without reservation. 

 

It had been nearly two years since she had taken up the extra workload, starting with more weapons training. All the changes had been challenging at the start—more than once she had thought it would be impossible to keep up—but in hindsight she didn’t regret a moment of it. Even years down the road she never wished she had spent more time with her friends or on her studies. The most important thing was her father, and that was where she had planted her time. 

 

For a moment he studied her earnestly. Eventually he nodded.

 

“I think you do mean it. Though I cannot fathom wishing to spend more time with an old man than with your friends.” He picked up his fork again, at last; whatever remained of the tension in the air drained away. He wasn’t cross with her for neglecting to register. He wasn’t even regretful about her loss of a personal life—as he seemed to see it.

 

“What if the old man  _ is  _ my friend?” Reina cocked her head to one side, hazarding a little smile.

 

He looked up at her and smiled in return, like it was contagious and he couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried.

 

“Is he?”

 

“He’s my best friend.” Reina’s smile widened. “Is that so bad?”

 

A pause, this one quiet and warm, filled with mutual smiles. Then: “No. Not bad in the least.”


	39. The King's Burden

######  _ 26 June, 756: _

_ (A month and a week after) _

 

Three days passed before Noctis woke. He was just what Reina expected, when he did. He was lost. He was heartbroken. Luna was gone and he hadn’t even had the chance to tell her… anything at all. And for the past month and a half he had been fighting, reaching for his destiny, and keeping Luna in mind—keeping his promise to her. He fought so he could reach Luna. He fought so he could save her. And now all of that was gone.

 

Luna, like so many others, had given everything for Noctis. He hadn’t wanted it, but he needed it—everyone in Eos needed it, so that Noct could succeed. She had forged the covenants for him, given her life, and, with her last ounce of strength, delivered the Ring of the Lucii to him.

 

Their father’s ring. 

 

Reina had never really expected to see it again. Before Altissia, the last time she had, it had been on her father’s hand. How had it come to Luna’s? They would never know, now, but Reina couldn’t stop herself from wondering. The ring was a gift and a burden; it was a reminder of everything Noctis had to live up to and of everything he was afraid of—every failure that might follow if he didn’t do well enough. But to Reina, it was something else, entirely.  

 

“Will you take it?”

 

At first she didn’t know what he meant. They sat, both of them together, on the bed Noctis had occupied for three days in Altissia. She pulled back to look at him; Noctis opened his hand, palm up. Sitting there, in the center, was the Ring of the Lucii. Their father’s ring. That terrible artefact that had drained his life and ruined his health for as long as Reina could remember. For years she had wished she could carry it for him, wished she could be the one to give her life for the kingdom instead.

 

But that wasn’t her wish for the ring, anymore.

 

They said the souls of the Lucii—the souls of every past king of Lucis—was bound to the ring. That those who wore it stood before them and received their judgement. For a month she had thought if it was true then their father was bound to that ring and if  _ that  _ was true then finding the ring would mean finding their father again. He wouldn’t have been gone, at all.

 

“Noctis…” 

 

“Take it, Rei—please. I can’t bear it. I can’t do this. I don’t know what soul that crystal has, but it was wrong. It chose the wrong twin.”

 

She was the only one he had ever voiced those doubts to, but she knew he wasn’t the only one who had them. Reina, though, had never wondered, never questioned.

 

The ring rested in the palm of his hand, black-gemmed and gleaming. She wanted  _ so much _ to take it from him, to put it on her finger—she would have taken whatever burden went along with it for the chance to see her father just one more time….

 

But that wasn’t her place. She couldn’t fulfill his destiny for him, she couldn’t take this weight off his shoulders any more than she had been able to take it off their father’s. All she could do was walk beside him and hope it was enough.

 

She reached out and closed his hand back around the ring, holding it with both of hers. He didn’t want her to have the ring, anyway—he wanted her to have everything that went along with it. The responsibility, the expectation, the crown and the title. She didn’t want any of them, but for him she would have taken them all. If only.

 

“If I could take this weight for you, Noct, I would in a heartbeat. You know I would. But I can’t. This is your path to walk and all I can do is walk beside you. Father’s ring falls to you and I—like he—believe that the crystal chose rightly.” 

 

And Ignis had worn the ring. He hadn’t seen their father, hadn’t heard him. So he wasn’t bound to the ring and without him it was nothing but death. 

 

“What’s the point?” Noctis dropped his gaze, perhaps to hide the tears in his eyes. “Luna…”

 

“I know.”

 

Like everything else she had said, she meant it. She knew that pain of loss more sharply than she knew anything else, anymore. Noctis glanced up at her and she saw objection on his face before it faded into understanding. This was a pain they both carried. 

 

He leaned forward and rested his forehead against her shoulder; she wrapped her arms around him.

 

“How do I do it? How do I keep going?” He asked.

 

“Any way you can. By taking my hand and putting one foot in front of the other, because you can’t stop walking.”

 

“Does it get easier?”

 

Reina looked down at him, watching the tears stream down his cheeks. He wanted to hear that it did, but he needed to hear the truth.

 

“No. You just get better at pretending you’re alright inside.”

 

He tilted his head to look at her, his eyes still overbright, his cheeks wet. His mouth tightened. He shut his eyes again and pressed his forehead against her neck. “Yeah.”

 

######  _ 15 August, 756: _

_ (Three months after) _

 

Two more months passed before they left Altissia for Niflheim. 

 

Reina sat by her twin as much as she was able. She knew what he felt; she knew it too well. And all those weeks that she had struggled through the same, suffocating darkness, Noctis had been at her side. Now it was her turn. It meant leaving Ignis to his own devices more often, but he understood.

 

Gladiolus, predictably, did not.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

 

The train swayed steadily through the desert toward Cartanica. They were in Niflheim, now. Reina sat in the seat across from Ignis; her brother sat apart because that was where he wanted to be. He knew where she was. He knew she was always there if he wanted her, but for her part she knew there wasn’t anything she could do. 

 

She pulled her eyes from the speeding landscape as Gladio approached. 

 

“What?” Noctis looked up at him as well.

 

“We’re not stopping in Tenebrae,” Gladio said.

 

Helpful and empathetic as ever. 

 

Reina slid to the other side of her seat; if Gladio was going to pick a fight with her brother then she was going to be right where she belonged—at Noct’s side.

 

“You need to grow up and get over it.”

 

Reina marvelled at Gladiolus’ magical ability to make her want to hit something—preferably him. How could he be  _ so  _ dense? ‘Get over it, Noct,’ like he hadn’t just had his heart cut out. It wasn’t something a person got over. Maybe they could go on moving, walking through the motions, but they never forgot that it was gone, it never stopped hurting, and they were never whole again.

 

“I am over it. I’m here, aren’t I?” Noctis rose—he didn’t command the imposing height that Gladio did, so perhaps it was a poor choice, but Reina stood as well.

 

“Maybe when you’re not too busy moping, you can look around and give a shit about someone worse off than you.” 

 

Gladio swiped for Noctis, making to grab the front of his shirt. Reina intervened, catching his wrist and twisting.

 

“Don’t touch my brother.” Her voice was level, coated in the same calm ice as her face. Just because she was angry didn’t mean it had to affect her.

 

Gladio’s eyebrows raised as his gaze turned on her, but only for a moment. They lowered once more in a scowl as he pulled his hand free. She hadn’t expected to restrain him; she was half his size, if that, and everything she knew he had taught her. But she wanted him to know that she stood with her brother and that she didn’t appreciate Gladio’s bullshit.

 

“You think Ignis is worse off? I would have gladly given my arms and legs for my father’s life. I would rather suffer blindness than live in a world where I’ll never see him again.” She stood between Gladio and Noctis, now. Her voice remained unchanging.

 

She should have appeared comical trying to talk down to someone who she had to crane to look at. Somehow she didn’t. 

 

“Whatever you hope to accomplish here with your frustration is bound to fail. Walk away, Gladiolus.” She stood with her chin high and her back straight; her voice carried an order, not from a friend or a sister, but from a princess.

 

Gladio took one halting step back, like his body was being forced to move without his consent. His eyes flicked toward Noctis, over Reina’s head.

 

“You think you’re a king, but you’re a coward.”

 

“Shut up!” Noctis growled, taking a step after him. Reina didn’t hold him back, but she did grab his hand; it stopped him, just not for the same reasons.

 

“ _ Leave us, Gladiolus _ .”

 

He turned on his heel, finally, keeping his further venom to himself, and stalked out the door at the far end of the train car. Noctis huffed, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘asshole’ under his breath. Reina threw her arms around his neck, standing on her toes to hug him as tight as she could.

 

“Try not to let him get to you. I’ll always be here for you.”

 

Noct hugged her back, letting out a slow breath. 

 

“I know,” he murmured.

 

Reina kissed his cheek; he didn’t object. He just hugged her for a while longer before pulling away.

 

“I’m gonna walk.”

 

It was his way of saying he needed to get away. She nodded, watching him go in the opposite direction from Gladio before she dropped back into her seat.

 

Prompto was staring at her.

 

“Something I can do for you?”

 

“No—I mean—whoa—like, when did you turn into a princess?—uh, I mean, you’ve always been a princess, but like—you got real scary and royal, just there. Even more than in Altissia, before Leviathan.”

 

Reina caught the smile on Ignis’ face; she wasn’t sure that Prompto did. He seemed too busy staring at her like he had never seen her before.

 

“Gladio brings out Her Highness’ most…  _ queenly _ ,” Ignis said.

 

Reina made a face at him, then remembered he couldn’t see it.

 

“References to my queenliness are going to bring out my ‘most queenly’ side if you don’t watch it.”

 

Ignis’ smile persisted.

 

“Right,” Prompto said, still wide-eyed. “I think I’ll go ahead and not make you angry, then. Also, not mention your queenliness—uh—I mean—your… princess-ly-ness…”

 

“Do that and you have nothing to fear,” Reina said.

 

They fell silent, only speaking periodically to confirm their whereabouts or their plans for the next tomb. Cartanica was the next stop; back in Lucis, Cor had tracked down the last royal tomb to an abandoned quarry just out from the train station. It would be their first time in true combat since Ignis’ injury. Reina wasn’t entirely certain what to expect, but somehow she wasn’t overly concerned. 

 

In the past several weeks, she had resumed her own training, keeping her word to herself so as never to find herself climbing to a balcony and not entirely confident in her own arms ever again. When Ignis’ wounds had healed enough, he joined her. While they both understood that it would be a poor substitute for facing foes together, it did give them the opportunity to learn each other's motions. That was the jumping off point; this tomb was where they began.

 

The others were, perhaps, less assured. She had caught Prompto asking if Ignis was up to it earlier on in the train ride. Ignis had responded with characteristic calm—though she noted he avoided answering the question directly. It was difficult to tell if the doubt was still there, but Reina liked to think that she had instilled in him  _ some  _ sort of determination for success over the past weeks.

 

Eventually the train stopped and the five of them poured out; Noctis and Gladio were still not speaking to each other. In fact, Gladio was still fuming and just the sight of him seemed to irk Noct.

 

There was very little in Cartanica. It reminded Reina a little of some of the outposts back home. With a start, she realized she had never really thought of Lucis as a whole as ‘home,’ before—it had always been just Insomnia—but now that they were away, she missed it. She missed the stupid, run-down little outposts; she missed the bland, open deserts; she missed Lestallum with its ridiculous architecture and stifling heat; she missed the people and their slow, steady way of talking. She missed her kingdom.

 

But this was just one more step on the path to getting it back. 

 

They descended to the quarry through an old, rickety lift. Noctis didn’t question Ignis coming along with them.

 

“We’ll manage,” Reina said simply.

 

There was some discussion and no small amount of fussing once they were in the quarry, however. The air was heavy with fog too brown to be mist. A winding path outlined by a crumbling railing twisted down and in through the dirt and stone. Not, overall, the best place for a blind man to be walking. 

 

“Watch your step,” Gladio said.

 

Perhaps not the best choice of words.

 

“As best I can,” said Ignis.

 

“Go at your own pace. We’ll wait.”

 

Reina, who knew this was the last thing Ignis wanted, had to stop herself from kicking Prompto. Instead she took Ignis’ arm and began the descent at his side. In his free hand he held a cane, so he didn’t rely entirely on her.

 

“Heading down for a while. I’ll watch for the rocks; if you slip I’ll catch you,” Reina spoke in an undertone, for Ignis only. 

 

He said nothing but gave a short nod. They were off; Reina kept her grip on his arm firm but not stifling, her other hand resting against his back to guide him—or to catch him. It proved necessary more than once on the path down.

 

The first time was Reina’s fault—she ought to have seen the dip and warned him, at the very least. When Ignis’ feet slipped, Reina’s were on uneven ground and they very nearly both went down. Ignis’ hand tightened around hers; Reina scrambled for purchase in her boots, found it, and held tight.

 

“Noct—hold up!” Prompto called.

 

“You alright, Iggy?”

 

Reina pulled them both back up, giving Ignis a chance to put both his feet on the ground.

 

“My fault,” she announced. “We’re fine.”

 

She squeezed Ignis’ hand and he squeezed hers in return; she could feel tension singing in his body after that slip, in spite of his silent affirmation that he was fine.

 

“How far are we from the edge?” He asked, his voice loud enough for only Reina to hear.

 

“About four feet.”

 

He gave another sharp nod to show he had registered the information.

 

“I won’t let you fall off.”

 

Ignis squeezed her hand once. They continued down the path after the others; the next slip was hastiness on his part and Reina watched it build before his foot slid. She braced both her feet and kept him upright before he had a chance to properly lose his balance. There was no holdup and the others didn’t ask if he was alright, though they did look back to make sure.

 

At the bottom, the rocky path gave way into swamp-like pools and their first beasts: a handful of gurangatches.

 

“Be ready to get your feet wet,” Reina warned as they crept closer, still unnoticed.

 

“Figuratively or literally?”

 

“Both,” said Reina. “Six lizards in a swamp.”

 

“Rei.” Noct crouched in the front of their group, just shy of the pool of murky water. He glanced over his shoulder and caught her eye. “Keep an eye on Ignis.”

 

Reina met his gaze and gave him a nod. Her heart should have been pounding in her chest for all she was about to dive into battle with a blind man at her side, but she was surprisingly calm. 

 

Gladio and Prompto looked her over once, at if trying to decide whether or not she could handle him on her own. Whatever they decided there was ultimately no more conversation. With a flash, Noctis warped into battle, striking hard at the nearest reptile.

 

“Here we go,” Reina murmured. 

 

She drew her naginata, rising from a crouch. Beside her, Ignis held his knife in one hand and his cane in the other. Gladio and Prompto preceded them into battle, joining Noctis. After a beat, she and Ignis followed as well. The step down into the pool was met with a splash—under any other circumstances Reina might have at least made a face at being knee-deep in opaque green water, but just then she had more important things to consider. The other five gurangatches were advancing, joining the fray. Two advanced on Reina and Ignis.

 

“One at twelve, one at two; the others are occupied,” Reina said, hazarding a glance toward the other three.

 

“Right,” Ignis responded.

 

The water  _ did  _ have the advantage of making more noise. Whether or not he could distinguish the sound of their foes from the others remained to be seen. 

 

The beast on Reina’s side leapt.  _ Stupid, _ Reina thought grimly as she thrust her naginata into its soft underbelly. There wasn’t time to finish it. Beside her she heard Ignis in motion and turned to see him swing his knife—too early to hit the gurangatch, which hung back until after his balance was in the wrong spot. 

 

“Back, then strike right,” Reina called to Ignis, twisting her blade and spinning to thrust it into the second creature’s side. 

 

Ignis reacted with only a slight delay—the snapping jaws of the gurangatch caught his sleeve as he lunged back. He thrust right and struck its eye squarely. 

 

“Mind the teeth.” Reina turned back to the first beast to catch it climbing back to its feet. She pushed her advantage, that last moment of preoccupation, and rammed her naginata into its throat. With a final twist she pulled her blade free.

 

Beside her, Ignis had managed to drive his knife clean through his foe’s head. When it jerked back, a last dying impulse, he lost his hold on the weapon. 

 

“It’s done,” Reina said, even as he raised his cane to ward off any following attack. “I don’t think it’s getting back up.”

 

“The others?” Ignis asked.

 

Reina glanced over; between the three of them, Noct, Prompto, and Gladio had finished off the last of the gurangatches.

 

“Done as well.”

 

“I’m afraid I was a touch slow on that first call,” Ignis noted, lifting his right arm. 

 

His shirt sleeve was torn; beneath it his flesh was as well. Two long gashes from the beast’s teeth traced parallel marks on the outside of Ignis’ forearm. Reina grasped his wrist, pulling his tattered sleeve aside to look more closely at them.

 

“Ignis! Are you hurt?” Prompto trudged through the waist-deep sludge toward them. Gladio and Noctis followed closely behind.

 

“How bad?” Ignis asked Reina.   
  


“Not too bad,” Reina said, loud enough for the others to hear. “Nothing we can’t fix with a potion—Noct!”

 

She motioned to her brother, who lobbed a bottle to her. She caught it deftly—thankful that he had thrown her water and not a can of soda—and opened it for Ignis, pushing it into his hand.

 

“Maybe you should hang back, Specs,” Noctis suggested.

 

“Was I in the way?”

 

“No, you weren’t, it’s just…” Noct didn’t finish his sentence, except with a sound of indecision. He caught Reina’s eye. She understood; he was worried about Ignis, but unwilling to make him feel more useless than he already did.

 

“It’s alright, Noct. Don’t worry about Ignis; I’ll handle things.” She met his gaze solidly and, after a moment of consideration, he nodded.

 

“Right.”

 

They were underway once more. Reina walked beside Ignis, sloshing through the foul-smelling water with one hand in his and the other on his back. 

 

“We’ll do better, next time,” Reina assured him.

 

“Yes,” Ignis agreed in an undertone.

 

They  _ did  _ do better. At least marginally. With each monster they faced together there were adjustments made for better or worse; in the aftermath they agreed what not to attempt a second time. 

 

Meanwhile, Gladio was still being a general ass. Reina watched him corner her brother and demand to know whether or not he could handle the responsibility. However, she noted, he did  _ not  _ touch Noct. For his part, Noctis met Gladio’s half-accusatory interrogation with fire and determination—if not resignation. 

 

In the end, though, it was Ignis who saw them through to the tomb. If that didn’t prove to him and everyone else that he still belonged with them then Reina wasn’t sure what would. Without him, Noctis would never have claimed the eleventh glaive.

 

“A moment?” Ignis called them to a halt, just outside the tomb.

 

“Is everything ok?” Gladio turned to look at him. 

 

Ignis kept his head low for a moment. Reina suspected the silence was him choosing his words, rather than hesitation; he proved her right shortly.

 

“It bloody well isn’t, and I won’t suffer this pointless bickering in silence any longer,” Ignis growled; it wasn’t a tone Reina expected from him—it wasn’t a tone anyone expected. “Let’s be frank. My vision hasn’t improved and probably won’t. Yet in spite of this, I would remain with you all. To the very end.”

 

Despite everything, Reina smiled, wishing he could see the look she had for him. It was pride and it was warmth; after all the doubt and worry, after black weeks of believing he would be worthless for the rest of his life, Ignis had come out the other side. He could do it—she knew it, and now he did, as well.

 

And, as per usual, Gladio chimed in to shit on everything.

 

“Sorry, but I object. War is a matter of life and death.”

 

Was it bad form to run the King’s Shield through with her naginata?

 

“But—we’ll be there!” Prompto objected. Reina glanced at him; his heart was in the right place for the wrong reasons. She didn’t get the chance to interject—not unless she wanted to ruin her graceful exterior—Gladio was ready with his retort.

 

“It’s not about us looking out for him.”

 

“Uh-huh. Well then he should be free to choose.”

 

“There’s more to it than just what he wants—”

 

It was Ignis who finally shut them up.

 

“I know full well!” 

 

Reina couldn’t remember the last time she had heard Ignis raise his voice. Judging by the looks on the others’ faces, they couldn’t, either. 

 

“I won’t ask you to slow down. If I cannot keep up, I will bow out.”

 

She brushed his arm with her fingertips; Ignis turned his head toward her, perhaps out of reflex. She laced her fingers with his, reasoning that if he couldn’t see her face, at least he could have  _ that  _ expression. Whatever he said, she wasn’t going to let him fall behind. If their experience that day spoke for anything it was that they  _ could  _ learn to be as effective as they had been before. Even more, considering that Reina hadn’t exactly contributed properly before Leviathan.

 

Gladio scoffed. “What says ‘His Majesty’?”

 

Noctis didn’t say anything. He hardly needed to.

 

“Noct.” Ignis’ voice was soft once more. He spoke in the tone that Reina and Noct had both come to expect from him—patient, understanding, displaying both in precisely the right way, unlike the other critical party in their retinue. 

 

“You are king. One cannot lead by standing still. A king pushes onward always, accepting the consequences and never looking back.”

 

Cold ran through Reina’s core. She may have been, for all intents and purposes, fully functioning and outwardly recovered since her father’s death, but inside was another matter altogether. Unexpectedly stumbling into his words spoken by another felt like missing a step at the top of a flight of stairs and tumbling the rest of the way down.

 

Noctis looked at Ignis, his expression predominantly neutral. But Reina caught the way his eyes widened ever so slightly, how his gaze lingered on Ignis in recognition of their father’s words. He understood, Reina knew; he just didn’t know how to do it, yet.

 

“Gladio,” Ignis continued after a pause, “Noct will take his rightful place. Only once he’s ready.”

 

Gladio made another tsking sound, like a teenager who had been forbidden what he wanted and was trying to pretend it didn’t matter after all. “Have it your way. We’re still taking a big risk. We better  _ all  _ be ready.”

 

“Perhaps you should consider learning your own place, Gladiolus, in lieu of attempting to teach others theirs.” Reina spoke for the first time, letting her fingers slip from Ignis’ as she took a step forward and folded her arms over her chest. “It is for the Shield to protect, not to criticize, the king. You do your name a disservice.”

 

He bristled at the jab, but he didn’t dare to challenge her directly. Instead, he said, “I’m just waiting for the king to show up.”

 

“It is not your place to decide who is worthy and who is not, either,” Reina’s voice remained level, though sharp. Her eyes flashed and she took a step forward toward him. “Do you understand? You are to protect him; to stand by him as he walks his path. And if you must bite your tongue, I pray you learn to hold it before it is bitten off entirely.”

 

What was his problem, anyway? Who had told him he had all the answers? At least he had the good sense to keep his mouth shut, this time. Reina met his gaze, her eyes fiery, until he lowered his eyes.

 

“ ‘I ask not that you guide my wayward son. Merely that you remain at his side.’ “ Those words, as many others her father had said, were scorched into Reina’s memory. They sounded strange coming from her own mouth, but she said them evenly, levelly, without betraying a hint of the shooting pain at the recollection of some of his last words to them.

 

Gladio glanced back up at her. There was a curious expression on his face for a moment, as if he was trying to remember something just at the edge of his memory. Then it was gone, replaced by something like contrition.

 

“You’re right. Your Highness.” He tacked on the title, almost as an afterthought. He never called her Your Highness; Reina found it odd that he chose that moment to. He glanced at Noct and gave a little nod before turning abruptly. It was the closest they would ever get to an apology or an admission of guilt. 


	40. Ghosts in Zegnautus

######  _ 15-19 August, 756: _

The next few days passed in a blur of darkness and daemons. They pushed onward because there was no other choice. When the empire closed in and Prompto fell from the train, they pushed on. When daemons swarmed and darkness fell they pushed on. When the breath of the Glacian froze the train to the tracks, they pushed on. And when, at long last, after months of faithful service, their father’s car finally failed them, they pushed on… 

 

The Regalia.

 

For months that had been their only link back to him. They had slept in that car, lived in that car. For weeks it was the only way Reina  _ could  _ sleep, the only way she could feel close enough to him, safe enough, to shut her eyes and banish the ghosts. 

 

They stood and watched her burn, tendrils of smoke curling up from the charred, shattered remains of their most steadfast companion. The windows crumbled. The engine hissed. A single tear rolled, unchecked, down Reina’s cheek.

 

That had been his last gift to them. His last shield. The last, lingering trace of his presence.

 

“You will take the Regalia, when you go.” He had said it so simply, as if it was to be taken for granted.

 

“Uh… okay,” Noctis had said, giving half a shrug. “Why not one of our cars?”

 

“Humor an old man,” He said, giving them each a smile and a hand on the shoulder. “Call it senility or superstition if you wish. I cannot accompany you on this journey… but I can send with you one of my most trusted companions. She may be old… but she will see you through to the very end.”

 

And so she had. She had seen them straight to Gralea, very nearly to the keep. 

 

Now she was gone. Now  _ he  _ was gone. Somehow, though it had been months, it seemed that much more real without the Regalia. From this point on they would have to walk on their own feet. Their father could carry them no farther.

 

“Dad…. Thanks for everything…” Noctis murmured.

 

Reina lost hold of the tears that were burning in her eyes. They streamed down her cheeks, but she didn’t make a sound, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

 

“We should move,” Gladio said, though he sounded reluctant to be the one suggesting it.

 

“Yeah,” Noctis sighed, pulling himself away.”C’mon. Rei—hey—c’mon.”

 

She met his gaze and knew he felt the same pain she did. Somehow, it felt like abandoning their father all over again. But they had to keep moving, so they pushed onward.

 

The train lay thrown over the tracks, propped precariously across another car with their destination on the other side. It creaked as they approached. As much as all of them would have preferred to avoid it, there was only one way across. It shifted, dropping dust into the crumbling street.

 

“Let’s be quick,” Ignis said.

 

“Right.” Noct ducked beneath first.

 

Their only consolation, when it crashed down behind him, was that they had allowed for a gap in their ranks.

 

“Noct!” Reina cried.

 

“I’m fine!” Came his voice from the other side, almost immediately.

 

Reina let out a breath, releasing fists she hadn’t realized she held.

 

“Gotta keep moving!” Noct said.

 

More daemons.

 

“Head for the keep, we’ll find you inside,” Ignis called.

 

And that was the last they heard, for a time. Still, they pushed onward.

 

When the disembodied voice of the Imperial Chancellor followed them through the city and directed them on which route to take in the keep, they pushed onward. 

 

Ignis moved more smoothly, now. He didn’t stumble so much and he didn’t reach out to Reina for assistance. She let him walk as he was able. After the spat at the last royal tomb, she suspected he wanted to prove himself. Between the two of them, Reina and Gladio ensured that he took no further falls. 

 

For his part, Gladio was still being insufferable. He wasn’t trying, but Reina was beginning to think that this was just his default state. Did he really think she needed his protection? Whatever he believed, he did his best to sideline her whenever they encountered daemons on the path that Izunia set for them.

 

It didn’t make any sense, the chancellor leading them along—ostensibly for no other reason than to reunite them with Noctis—but they had few other options; they followed his directions. Eventually, the chancellor brought them to a control room.

 

“Hey. There it is.” Gladio took point, leading the way toward the computers that lined one side of the room.

 

“What is it?” Ignis asked.

 

“The crystal. Right here on the screen.”

 

“Then we’re close.” Ignis followed and Reina brought up the rear. She didn’t trust this place any more than she trusted the chancellor. “If it’s anything like the Citadel, there should be a barrier barring access.”

 

“Well then we unbar it. You just tell me what to do,” said Gladio, stepping up to the controls.

 

“Right.”

 

She stood by, half-listening as Ignis gave instructions to Gladio. Something about this room made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Or maybe it was Zegnautus Keep in general. What had happened to all the people? Why were there only daemons? And why was there a hole in the ceiling just above the door? All the electronics were still functioning, but as far as she could tell the only living people in the whole place were the three of them. Something catastrophic had clearly happened.

 

The darkness inside the hole moved and a creature, seven feet tall and twisted like a crippled man, climbed out.

 

Reina reached for her naginata. “We’ve got company.”

 

Clawed feet landed on the floor, blocking their path back the way they had come. It flexed batlike wings and gnashed dozens of pointed teeth at them.

 

“Thieves cannot escape the hand of justice.” It  _ spoke _ . The  _ daemon  _ spoke. Not only that, but it sounded almost familiar—in that irritating place between recognition and completely forgotten, like an itch she couldn’t reach.  “The crystal is mine. Never shall I loose my grip. The crystal, the light, the power... All of it…  _ mine _ !”

 

The daemon threw its head back with the cry and for a moment she thought she saw a face—a  _ human  _ face—where its head should have been. The face she  _ did  _ remember. Emperor Iedolas Aldercapt: though they had never met, she knew his face.  

 

She was beginning to understand what had happened to all the people.

 

“Keep back, Reina.” Gladio stepped in front of her, blade drawn. 

 

Reina ground her teeth together and bit back an angry retort.  _ Keep back, Reina _ , like she was weak and useless. Hadn’t he been her teacher through most of her life? What, then, did that say about  _ him _ ?

 

She did step back, though not through any desire to comply with his instructions. She kept her eyes forward even as she moved, unwilling to take her eyes off the daemon—Aldercapt. That fiend had been the cause of so much pain in her father’s life. If not for him, there would have been no need to maintain the Wall year after year, decade after decade. If not for him, her father would still have been alive—still have been  _ healthy _ . And she would be damned if she didn’t serve some of that pain back to the emperor—daemon or not.   

 

Reina hazarded a glance behind her. Ignis stood with his cane in one hand and his knife in the other, both pointed down: ready to attack or defend but blind to the threat.

 

“That daemon,” she said, keeping her voice low, “Has the emperor’s face.”

 

“Emperor Aldercapt?” Ignis’ stance waved with his surprised.

 

Reina nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see it. “Yes.”

 

Beside her, Ignis resettled his grip on his knife. “Then let us pay back some of what we owe him.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

She transferred her naginata to her left hand and reached out to Ignis with her right. Verbal communication was all fine and well, but combat moved faster than words. As they had discovered in the numerous encounters since their first, there was no substitute for physical contact. The real sticking point was interpreting motion from Ignis and anticipating his moves, and vice versa. Nothing but experience could solve that.

 

“Ready?” Reina asked.

 

“Ready,” Ignis said.

 

They advanced. Ahead, Gladio swung his blade at Aldercapt and caught him across the middle. Whatever daemons were made of, it didn’t come apart as easily as human flesh. The daemon lunged backward, wings spread, then leapt for Ignis. Perhaps it thought to cut the weak link. Whatever the reasoning, it was to be sorely disappointed.

 

Reina stepped in front of Ignis. Her hand brushed his arm as she let go of him; the side of her body aligned with his. She didn’t need to push him out of the way. Just one step was all the motion he needed and he knew. 

 

Her naginata swept up, blade first, and sliced through Aldercapt’s extended wing. Ignis stepped behind her in a single motion. With every move he made, they kept contact. He might have known where she was by sound, but he didn’t know what she was doing unless he could feel it. Back to back as they were, he didn’t need to see. All her actions traced back to the core.

 

Ignis was on her left. His shoulder pressed to hers as he swung his cane—not for damage but for measurement. They detached when his knife followed. He struck the daemon’s arm and withdrew to avoid retaliation. He didn’t account for the extra length of Aldercapt’s claws. 

 

Reina reached out, grabbing Ignis’ arm. She twisted and he followed, his back hitting hers once more. Aldercapt hit the empty air while Gladio struck from behind, one blow from his massive blade. That was enough to convince the daemon to turn. It swung one talon-like claw at Gladio, forcing him back. 

 

From behind, Reina pressed their advantage. Her hand closed around Ignis’ wrist and she stepped forward. He moved with her, each backward step matching one of hers. When she released him and lunged for Aldercapt, Ignis rounded her and did the same. This time they kept contact at the hip.

 

_ This is for my father, you bastard _ . 

 

The curved blade of her naginata thrust for Aldercapt’s side, slicing flesh and muscle alike. Something more like black ink than blood poured from where she cut. With a screech, Aldercapt leapt, latching to the ceiling. 

 

“I thought you were gonna keep back.” Gladio kept his eyes on the daemon, though he spoke to Reina. 

 

She didn’t spare him a glance. “You thought wrong.”

 

Aldercapt shifted, extended one claw and fixing sights on Ignis once more. Reina moved before the daemon did. She stepped in front, catching Ignis around the waist and pulling him to one side. He moved fluidly, following her guidance without any concern for being led astray. Aldercapt’s claws dug into the floor, instead. They stuck.

 

It was as much of an invitation as they were likely to get. Reina stepped to one side, letting her hand brush over the front of Ignis’ shirt. He moved in the opposite direction, catching her hand as it passed. She hadn’t seen him drop his cane, but it wasn’t in his hand anymore.

 

She swung her naginata, twisting it mid-arc and using the momentum, along with the length of the pole, to put more force behind the one-armed strike. At the same time, Ignis attacked from the opposite side. Aldercapt, pinned in and still struggling to free over-large claws from the floor, took both hits. A beat later, Gladio’s blade landed from behind as he caught up with them. 

 

The daemon gave another screech, curling forward and wrapping wings around its bleeding body. It dissolved into black mist, leaving the room quiet.

 

Reina stood, catching her breath, as Ignis straightened beside her. 

 

“I can’t hear it anymore. Is it dead?” He asked.

 

“Not yet…” Gladio turned a circle, as if he expected it to leap down on them again. “Thing just disappeared. Ain’t never seen one that talked like that before.”

 

“Something to do with the transformation.” Reina released her weapon, letting it dissolve, and glanced around for Ignis’ cane.

 

“Transformation?” Gladio asked.

 

“Did you not see that face?” Reina asked. Had that been some vision, or was she going mad in this place?

 

“Yeah… I just thought… hell. Dunno what I thought.”

 

“That was Emperor Aldercapt’s face,” Reina said. “I think the daemon  _ was  _ Aldercapt.”

 

And they had let it get away. That twisted bastard, who deserved more pain and suffering that she could possibly inflict in a lifetime, was still somewhere in the keep. After the crystal, she was hunting down the emperor. Destiny be damned, she was putting her blade through that thing’s gut if it was the last thing she did.

 

Gladio just stared at her. 

 

Ignis’ cane had fallen a few feet away, jarred loose, perhaps, when she had pulled him out of the way the last time. She squeezed his hand and released him, going to collect it. 

 

“A mystery for another time,” Ignis said. He took his cane when she pressed it into his hand.

 

“Yeah,” said Gladio. “And you two should really hang back. That was real close.”

 

“Was it?” Ignis asked.

 

Reina didn’t answer. She was looking at Gladio, whose arm bled sluggishly from a gash he had earned for being too slow on the backstep.

 

“Of the three of us, I note only one came out needing a potion,” she said curtly. She tossed him one. “Let’s get moving. We have to find Noct.”

 

And they did. Somehow, following the disembodied voice of the chancellor didn’t land them in worse trouble. Somehow, it didn’t backfire. Somehow it ended in not just one but two familiar faces reunited in the most unlikely place: Noctis’ retinue, whole again.

 

And they pushed onward.

 

They pushed until they had nothing left to give and were forced to take a chance in a locked up dormitory and scrounge what rest they could.

 

A terrible quiet settled between the five of them as they sat on the bunks and debated setting a sentry. After all those nights watching her brother and his friends fill camp time with chatter and games, seeing them so all so subdued was sobering. She hadn’t fully registered just how much she appreciated all of their conversation and laughter, even when she never joined in, until it was gone.

 

Noctis was wearing the Ring of the Lucii. It looked strange on his hand, but she found her eyes drawn to it, anyway. She wanted to ask him the question, but she didn’t think she could stand the answer. Which was worse, the possibility that he hadn’t seen their father and that he truly was out of the reach for ever or that Noct  _ had  _ seen him… and Reina hadn’t?  _ Wouldn’t _ .

 

She pulled her eyes away so he wouldn’t catch her staring and answer the question before she voiced it. She didn’t want to know.

 

In the end they set a rotation for watch; none of them trusted the locks in a place where the Imperial Chancellor opened doors without touching them.

 

Reina hesitated before crawling into her bunk. There were four beds, enough for everyone if one person stayed awake as watch, but she didn’t want her own bed. She watched her twin and a terrible thought crossed her mind.

 

_ This is the last night we’ll sleep side-by-side. _

 

She didn’t know where it came from. It was just there, sitting in the back of her mind, and when she thought it, fear gripped her chest. She knew it was the truth without knowing how or why.

 

She climbed into bed beside him—the bunks were too small for two people, but she didn’t care—he gave her a curious look but ultimately didn’t object. He just wrapped his arms around her as they both dropped off into an uneasy slumber.

 

Reina dreamed.

 

She dreamed all the answers she had never wanted to know. She dreamed inside dreams and crossed time within time. And when she woke everything was just as sharp and clear as they dreams had been: just as stark, just as real. Once, that sensation had left her wondering which reality was the real one. Now she didn’t. She knew they were both true. Both happened; just not at the same time.

 

She was hollow that day, on the last day they spent together. For six years Reina had known she would have to say goodbye to her brother before she was ready—before either of them were ready. Not even knowing had prepared her for that day.

 

“Hey. You alright?” Noctis asked, catching the look in her eye as they filed out of the dormitory some hours later. It couldn’t be called morning—indeed, it seemed unlikely there would be morning, anymore.

 

Reina met his gaze, her eyes haunted. “No,” she said truthfully.

 

There was no space to explain. Not much time, once they were out of the dormitory, either. So she held it inside, just one more burden that she carried on her own in one last vain attempt to protect him. Soon she wouldn’t be able to, anymore.

 

Zegnautus Keep was full of ghosts, that day. There was the daemon that crashed through walls, following after them and claiming to be the chosen of the light. 

 

Aldercapt. 

 

“He’s back.” Reina summoned her naginata and squared with Ignis. This time she wasn’t letting the daemon get away. This time it was going to die by her hand.

 

“The ring… it’s mine…” the daemon landed on the floor in front of them.

 

Was that what this had all been about? Some narcissist’s delusional belief that he was somehow the chosen one? Tens of thousands dead. Insomnia fallen. And her father…

 

Ignis cast his cane away and gripped her hand. 

 

She squeezed his fingers. “This time he dies.”

 

They danced around Noctis and the others. With every motion they kept contact: hands grasping, fingers brushing, backs touching. She saw for the both of them and it wasn’t an imposition. She didn’t sacrifice by serving as his eyes; she gained an extra limb, a whole extension of herself. Together, they brought Aldercapt down.

 

No escaping.

 

Reina took some satisfaction with dragging the sharp blade of her naginata up his disfigured abdomen and watching the filth pour out. 

 

“I wish you could have suffered more.” Reina spat on his body before it dissolved. It wasn’t enough: going mad with power, transforming into the very thing he had harnessed and weaponized, and falling on the princess’ blade in the end was all too good for him. Too quick. 

 

Ignis’ hand brushed her back—a tentative gesture, like he wasn’t certain it was permitted outside of combat. She might have indicated that she didn’t mind, if she hadn’t been otherwise preoccupied. The patch of floor where Aldercapt had died was stained black, just like everything else he had touched in the world. So much filth for one man’s delusions of grandeur.  

 

“C’mon…” Noct pulled her away. He didn’t understand because he hadn’t seen what she had seen, but he could guess.

 

After, they encountered ghosts of Prompto’s past, as well.

 

And then ghosts of Reina’s.

 

“Is that… Ravus…?” Gladiolus didn’t take a step back from the figure that approached, though his voice suggested he wanted to.

 

“Ravus…” Reina didn’t have enough left in her to feel shocked. Every step they took closer to the crystal killed another little piece of her. Every second was one second closer to the farewell she never wanted to say.

 

But she did feel guilt.

 

Ravus moved toward them as if each step was a struggle for him, as well. Half his body was blackened and disfigured, dripping with darkness, and a terrible horn jutted from one side of his head.

 

“Kill me…” His voice came out distorted, twisted in pain. “End it…!”

 

Had it really just been a few months ago when she had seen him, spoken to him? When he had reached out to her, hinting at something more underneath… and she had turned away? 

 

_ “Tell him I await in Gralea… with your father’s glaive.” _

 

If she had stopped him, asked him to stay with them, instead, then he might still be alive. She could have saved him.

 

_ Why can I never see the future in time to change it?!  _ Reina thought as she swung her naginata through the haze of angry tears.  _ What good is this power if it only shows me the inevitable?? _

 

“A sorry end for the High Commander… for anyone.”

 

Reina let her weapon dissolve in her fingers, not looking up as Gladio spoke.

 

_ Ravus…  _ For all she stared at him, she couldn’t see her childhood friend behind everything else, anymore. The daemon had consumed too much of him.  _ I’m so sorry.  _

 

All they could do was push onward… and never look back. The time of pining for brighter days, for family and friendship and sunshine, was gone. They had to keep moving.


	41. Pomp and Shenanigans

######  _ Summer, 755: _

_ (One year before) _

 

“This is, without contest, the stupidest way to celebrate a twentieth birthday.”

 

The resort technically belonged to the Caelum family. A lot of Insomnia did, in a roundabout way that didn’t precisely relate to the crown. The point being that there wasn’t much difficulty in clearing out the public areas and hosting one of the largest parties that Insomnia had seen in decades.

 

The prince and princess’ twentieth birthday. Twenty was a considerable waypoint in anyone’s life, but when it was the heir to the kingdom and his twin, it was a significant event for the whole Crown City. There was an entire orchestra, a perfectly catered meal without a sprig of garnish out of place, and what seemed to be half the kingdom in attendance—all dressed in their evening best.

 

“Or any birthday, really.”

 

Reina glanced sideways at her brother, who persisted with his exasperated commentary. She stretched her jaw to keep from laughing and, somehow, managed to maintain her public face. As the guests of honor, they were practically on display for the whole night. Noctis, who hadn’t worn anything more formal than a T-shirt in four years was looking particularly stiff in his suit. It had been cut for him specifically for the party. Reina’s dress was custom, as well, but she, at least, had no complaints. It was attractive—a deep, velvety black, like the night sky overhead, sporting a sweeping skirt with a single slit for mobility (she had insisted) and a sheer halter. Her long gloves matched, and she had picked out the gold necklace and bracelet especially for that night.

 

“How would you rather celebrate, brother-dear?”

 

“ _ Anything  _ would be an improvement. Not sitting on top of the Caelum Tower dressed up like a show dog, for a start. Not being with all these people that I’ve never met before—“

 

“You’ve met at least eighty percent of them, I guarantee. You’ve just forgotten.”

 

“And there are all these vegetables. They’re not going to  _ not  _ serve me vegetables, are they? Dad never made me eat veggies on my birthday.” Noctis continued as if she hadn’t interrupted.

 

Again Reina had to hide her smile. “You’ve forgotten that we’re expected to dance.”

 

Noctis groaned. Reina would have kicked him, only they were standing on a dias with no table in front of them, and she decided it would be bad form if the princess kicked the Crown Prince at his own birthday party. Nevermind that it was hers, as well.

 

“Just don’t step on my feet and we’ll be fine,” she said, instead.

 

“I’m gonna step on  _ someone’s  _ feet—whose idea was this, anyway?” Noctis grumbled in an undertone while Reina smiled fixedly at the steady line of people being presented— the guests they were  _ supposed  _ to be greeting. Luckily they were far enough up and back and no one could hear their discontent conversation.

 

“Oh, it was more a universal expectation that Father and I decided would be best to bow to. Trust me, the alternative was far worse.”

 

The crowd was made up mostly of familiar faces, as far as Reina was concerned, and in spite of her alternating desires to laugh at or kick her brother, she managed to incline her head to each, while keeping her expression politely welcoming. They didn’t actually want the prince and princess on display; they just wanted a couple pretty puppets to smile and nod so everyone could feel as if they had been greeted personally. 

 

“Worse for who?”

 

The Duke and Duchess of Altair were presented and approached. There wasn’t  _ really  _ a duchy in Lucis, anymore, though there had been, once. Now the titles were really just formality. Oh, they were all rich and well connected, and therefore turned up in court with a higher frequency than the rest of the population, but that wasn’t because of the title. Not really.

 

Reina smiled fixedly at them as they approached and corrected her brother through her teeth.

 

“For  _ whom _ , brother-dear.” The duchess and duke bowed and went on their way. “Honestly, mostly for me, because I’m the one who has to deal with it—but I would have made your life hell in return.”

 

“Worse hell than this?”

 

“Worse hell than this.”

 

Noctis sighed in resignation and fell silent. That wasn’t to say that their time spent greeting the full mass of Insomnian aristocracy passed in silence thereafter—Noctis always had something to say, and more often than not Reina had to fight against laughing at it. She suspected he was trying to get her to break character. By the time everyone was finally admitted, she was certain of it.

 

“You’re very good at this,” Noctis said mournfully, turning to look as the last of the guests passed them by.

 

“Come now, Noctis. If I can give a television interview while someone behind the camera screams ‘marry me, Princess Reina,’ I can put up with your uncouth commentary on my courtiers.”

 

“Oh they’re  _ your  _ courtiers now, are they?”

 

“More or less, yes. Now shut up and give me your arm.”

 

“Wha—“

 

Reina took it without being offered, disregarding the bewildered expression on her brother’s face. Then  _ she  _ led  _ him  _ off the dais and up the aisle between tables.

 

“What is happening,” Noctis muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

 

“Gods all, Noctis, can’t you keep a simple schedule in your head? Now we dance—don’t look so dour, Father’s sitting right there. You wouldn’t want him to think you’re not enjoying yourself, would you?”

 

The head table was conspicuous in several ways: firstly, there was only one person seated in the center of it, whereas all the others were full; second, that person was the king and he commanded a certain amount of notice just by existing; third, it was the only table that was flanked by five different crownsguards, in addition to Cor Leonis and the King’s Shield; and finally, it was by far the most ornately decorated table of the lot.

 

“I would  _ love  _ for  _ Father  _ to think I’m not enjoying myself,” Noct grumbled. 

 

He only called the king ‘father’ when he was making fun of Reina. Reina didn’t respond.  _ She  _ at least, was enjoying herself, poking fun of Noct. So she smiled sweetly at their father, who beamed back at her, and covertly elbowed her twin in the ribs until he put on a forced—and pained—smile. The look on the king’s face said he knew precisely what she was doing and thought it was hilarious.

 

There was a dance floor in the center—doubtless it was impossible to see from the edges, but there were enough cameras pointing at it to see from there to Galahd, sparing the fact that the vast majority of televisions in Lucis were in Insomnia. The twins came to halt in the middle of it. Reina curtsied to the king and, after an instant’s delay, Noctis bowed. Their father inclined his head toward them, still smiling in that way that made Reina think he was trying not to laugh at them. Then they turned toward each other and repeated the same before assuming the proper posture for dance.

 

“Please tell me you remember the steps.”

 

“Huh? We were supposed to learn steps?” If there was one thing Noct did well, it was that stunned, clueless look. He wore it, now.

 

“I am going to cut your head off and feed it to my pet coeurl,” Reina growled through her teeth. The hum of the orchestra signaled the halt of conversation.

 

“You don’t have a coeurl.”

 

“I will get one expressly for this purpose.” The orchestra played the first note. Reina’s expression remained resolutely  _ not  _ panicked, but she was beginning to wonder if it wasn’t too late to flee.

 

“Relax. You think I could forget, the number of lessons we took as kids? It’s probably burned into my subconscious. On my deathbed I’ll be saying ‘quick-quick slow, quarter turn, break’.”

 

Reina wanted to object that childhood lessons weren’t  _ exactly  _ a proper substitute for having actually practiced in the weeks leading up to their birthday, but she didn’t get the chance. The song began in full and so, miraculously enough, did the dance.

 

He  _ did  _ remember after all.

 

“Don’t look so surprised,  _ sister-dear _ .”

 

“You always surprise me when you do something you’re supposed to, Noctis.”

 

“I resent that.”

 

“You resemble that.”

 

“I could just stop dancing right now. No one would be surprised, you know. ‘Oh, the fuck-up prince forgot the steps, again.’ But  _ you _ , on the other hand, the perfect little princess, would be stuck standing up here looking awkward. Completely at my mercy. I’d be a little nicer to me, if I were you.”

 

She wrinkled her nose at him, refraining from sticking out her tongue while they were being watched by hundreds of thousands of people. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the camera following them. As much as she  _ wanted  _ to kick her brother, she didn’t. And she held her tongue, too. 

 

It was with a certain air of relief that they reached the end of the song without any mishaps. Noct didn’t step on her feet. Neither of them kicked each other. They didn’t start a fight on the middle of the dance floor. Reina had no idea if they had looked halfway decent but, in lieu of the other things, she decided she didn’t care. There was a dip—Noct didn’t drop her—and then the dance was completed in the same way it had begun: with a curtsy and a bow. After that, they  _ finally  _ got to sit down.

 

“Well, no one died, my feet are intact, and I don’t have to look into blackmarket coeurls. Overall, I would call that a success,” Reina breathed, sitting down on her father’s left.

 

He raised an eyebrow at her. “I thought you both looked lovely.” 

 

She noticed he didn’t respond to her comment about blackmarket coeurls.

 

“Oh yeah? Is that because you couldn’t see the glares Reina was shooting me through the whole dance?”

 

“No, those merely added to overall  _ feel  _ of the piece,” the king commented mildly.

 

“You’re a terrible person,” Noctis informed him.

 

“It shall be engraved on my tomb: ‘King Regis Lucis Caelum the One Hundred Thirteenth: A Terrible Person’.”

 

Reina hid a smile behind her hand.

 

The meal began with a toast: Reina and Noctis had their first—for official purposes—drink of wine, and then soup was served. Noctis complained about being watched by everyone, though he seemed to forget that there were  _ always  _ crownsguard in the dining room at the Citadel. Tonight was no exception. There were half a dozen standing behind their table, including Cor, though Clarus had withdrawn to join the guests.

 

Dinner was an uneventful affair, for the most part. It was after the conclusion of the meal, when socialization was back on the schedule, that things grew more interesting.

 

The final course preceding dessert was cleared away. There was a break in which guests rose from their tables and joined others; the music shifted and a not insignificant number of people joined the dance floor. From their position at the edge of it, the royal family had front row seats to watch. There was little else to do—at least for Reina, who didn’t have the advantage of having been joined by Gladio in the lull. Noctis had his friends in attendance, at least.

 

“You appear glum, my dear. Will you join the floor?” The king inquired, catching Reina’s eyes on the dancers.

 

“Are you asking me to dance, Father?” Reina teased.

 

He considered her for a moment, but without quite as much mirth as should have been on his face. At length he sighed. “You know, I should like to. Alas, I fear it would be difficult with my knee.”

 

Reina dropped her gaze. “Sorry, Father, I didn’t mean—“

 

“No, no. Do not concern yourself on my behalf—not tonight. This is  _ your  _ celebration. You ought to be enjoying yourself.”

 

“By dancing with courtiers?” Reina drawled.

 

He smiled. “Yes. In fact,  _ yes _ —go and dance, Reina.”

 

“I don’t  _ want  _ to dance.”

 

“I thought you wanted my happiness,” he teased, putting on airs of mock dismay.

 

Reina rolled her eyes. “I thought  _ you  _ wanted me to enjoy myself.”

 

“I do; and I observe that you are  _ not _ . So you might as well let me enjoy myself, if it is all the same to you.”

 

She glared at him. He didn’t lower his gaze.

 

“Fine.  _ Noct _ . Come be a trained poodle with me, once again. At  _ dear  _ Father’s behest.”

 

“Huh?” Noct turned in his chair, having been absorbed in conversation with Gladio.

 

“ _ No _ —dance with someone who is  _ not  _ related to you,” the king objected, lifting the dreaded hand of judgement.

 

“For what purpose?!”

 

“On the off, desperate chance that you’ll be spirited off your feet.”

 

Noctis laughed, catching the drift of the conversation. Behind him, Gladio was looking uncomfortable underneath his stoic mask. Reina hoped he wasn’t hoping to be picked as her partner.

 

“Yeah, Rei—go forth and dance. Entertain us,” Noctis said loftily.

 

Reina glared at him. “You’re next.”

 

“No, it’s just you that has to dance,” he retorted.

 

Reina glanced at their father, who made no motion to correct him.

 

“Why aren’t you making  _ Noct  _ dance?”

 

“Because Noctis has—” the king paused, glancing sideways at his son before lifting his hand and setting it gently across Noct’s shoulders. “An attachment.”

 

Luna.  _ Really _ ? Noctis got a free ticket out of dancing with courtiers because he liked Luna? Positively unfair.

 

Noctis looked smug. All those weeks of picking on her for telling their father about Luna last year, and now it was just working in his favor.

 

“Go and dance, Reina,” the king ordered.

 

She wanted to object, but she was running out of arguments. Besides, it was against her nature not to do something her father had told her to do. But if he thought she wasn’t going to get him back for this, later, he was sorely mistaken.

 

“Ah, _ Ignis _ .”

 

Ignis had finally excused himself from the knot of councillors to join his friends at the royal table. He bowed when the king greeted him.

 

“Your Majesty.”

 

“Ignis, will you dance with my daughter?”

 

Ignis straightened and, to his credit, managed not to even look bemused, though his eyes did flick toward Reina. For her part, Reina prevailed in trying not to look exasperated. She just met Ignis’ gaze with an impassive one.

 

“If it pleases Your Majesty,” Ignis bowed again. “Will you honor me with a dance, Your Highness?”

 

And now her father had succeeded not only in forcing her to dance—she could hardly turn Ignis down, now—but also in derailing poor Ignis’ plans to join Noct and Gladio.

 

“I will get you for this,” Reina growled at her father, who merely smiled in response. She rose, putting on her best smile for Ignis, and took his arm, letting him lead her to the dance floor. Behind her she knew Noct and the king were laughing silently; she elected not to look.

 

“I’m so sorry about this,” Reina said as she took her position with Ignis. “My father is full of mischief, tonight, and it seems you’ve rather stepped in the middle of it.”

 

“There is nothing to apologize for, Your Highness,” said Ignis, taking her right hand in his left and settling his other hand on her upper back. Ignis was a few inches taller than Noctis and a foot taller than Reina—the height difference made for some necessary adjustments, but for the most part he didn’t appear to struggle. “I daresay a full half of your guests envy my position.”

 

Maybe they did, though Reina hardly considered their envy to be justified. People wanted to dance with her—to be seen with her and associate with her—because of what she was, not because of who she was.  

 

“Surely your personal wishes are not dictated by the desires of others. It seems to me that you would have considerably more fun sitting with Noct and Gladio, but Father has prevented  _ that _ .” Reina responded. 

 

Ignis smiled, “I can enjoy myself here just as well, although—admittedly—I am unaccustomed to being  _ quite  _ so close to the center of attention.”

 

Reina hadn’t even noticed until he glanced around them that the crowd on the dance floor had thinned out. Most who had previously been dancing had retreated to the edges to watch instead; those few who remained danced only on the outer edges. She might not have registered it at all as something unusual if he hadn’t commented. So normal was it in her life, that it no longer warranted note.

 

“Ah, well. Consider, instead of the attention, that we will never be pressed for space if you dance with me.”

 

“That, I cannot deny. We might as well make use of it.”

 

They did. Ignis led their turns full around the empty dance floor—eventually the last of the other dancers retreated to watch. It wasn’t that they were exceptionally good dancers, but merely that everyone wanted to make an unnecessarily big deal about the princess doing… well, anything, honestly.

 

“I must admit, I’m surprised you didn’t just dance with Gladio, if your father insisted.”

 

Reina gave Ignis a curious look. Why would he think she would dance with Gladio, in particular? Then again, why  _ had  _ her father not chosen Gladio, seeing as he was right there all along? Though that question, she thought, she had an answer for. They hadn’t spoken of it again because there had been nothing more to speak of, but Reina had no doubts that her father remembered how upset she had been the night that Gladio kissed her. But she wasn’t going to tell Ignis that.

 

“I didn’t want to dance at all. I suppose you just caught Father’s attention as a convenient target,” Reina said.

 

“Ah. I see.”

 

Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t—she still wasn’t sure why he would expect her to dance with Gladio, but she didn’t dwell on it. She just focused on dancing and, for the most part, it wasn’t wholly unpleasant. Ignis was polite and easy to talk to. He was also a good dancer—likely because he had taken the same lessons that she and Noct had been subject to as children.

 

When the song was through, he returned her to the royal table and retreated to join Noct and Gladio, after giving a bow to Reina and the king.

 

“Happy? I have danced. May I be seated, now?”

 

Her father opened his mouth to respond, then stopped, a wide smile taking the place of any words. Before she had the chance to ask what the smirk was for, she was aware of someone approaching to her right.

 

“Your Highness, you dance beautifully; might I have the honor of the next dance?” There was a well-groomed young man with scarlet hair extending his hand to her. For the moment, his first name escaped her, but her mind rattled off that the oldest son of a Duke was a marquess, and that he was called Lord Altair. 

 

Reina shot her father a covert glare. The king wore a smug smile. He had  _ known  _ this would happen. All he had to do was arrange one dance for her and she wouldn’t be able to escape from the courtiers for the rest of the night. She wanted to tell him that she was going to cause him non-bodily harm at the earliest possible convenience, but the presence of a guest who wasn’t also a friend forced her to hold her tongue. Instead she fixed a perfect and perfectly fake smile and took the offered hand.

 

“I would be delighted to dance with you, Lord Altair. Please excuse me, Father.” She even managed to sound halfway polite when speaking to the king. It was a miracle.

 

She walked away with the marquess, leaving her father and brother laughing behind her once more. 

 

Her surmise proved correct. No sooner did she return from one dance than another courtier appeared to ask for the next. It went on in an endless line of suitors, and every time she glanced at her father he was looking disgustingly pleased with himself. None of the courtiers were as nice to dance with as Ignis had been. Indeed, after a dozen, she would willingly have danced with Noct again rather than subject herself to more of the same inane small talk. It was mind-numbingly boring. She entertained herself by imagining what sort of terrible things she could do to her father in revenge.

 

It must have been upwards of an hour that Reina tolerated the endless stream of men who wished to dance with her. In the end she broke free by insisting she needed a break—she felt this was reasonable, given how long she had been dancing without pause—and she returned to her seat. 

 

In spite of the murder brewing in her heart, she held a fixed social smile on her face even as she sat back down beside the king.

 

“I am going to kill you,” Reina told her father with mock cheer; it was made all the more unsettling by the fact that she was still smiling in that soulless sort of way. Her face hurt but she was fairly certain it was stuck like that forever.

 

“You must learn to choose your threats more wisely, my dear. When it is so clearly something you will never follow through on, it will never evoke terror,” the king informed her, matter-of-factly: just a king giving important life advice to his daughter.

 

Reina turned to look at him, still smiling. “I will cease my production of enchanted oil.”

 

_ That  _ had the desired effect. 

 

The king paled a shade—which was impressive, given his natural pallor, these days—and the self-satisfied expression that he had worn since her dance with Ignis slipped.

 

“You would  _ not dare _ .”

 

Her smile vanished. “I just spent two hours listening to various men drone on about their accomplishments while providing me with subpar dances. Don’t test me.”

 

He lifted his hands in sign of surrender. “I will behave myself for the remainder of the night.

 

Contrition suited him well. But it didn’t give her back two hours of her life.

 

“It’s too late. You can’t go back; the damage is done.”

 

“I still have the power to make your evening more uncomfortable,” he insisted, trying, it appeared, to get the upper hand once more.

 

“Then I will never rub your back again at all.”

 

He shut his mouth. Reina, smirking, lifted her wine glass in victory.

 

Reina was given her leisure; no one wanted to be the first person to ask her to return to the dance floor and give up her break and she gave no sign of wanting to do so. Furthermore, the king did  _ not  _ push her out on the floor once more, evidently afraid that she would follow through with her threats. 

 

Eventually dessert was served—a considerable, five-tiered chocolate cake with more elaborate detail than Reina felt was strictly necessary. Usually their birthday desserts were simple, given that it was only the three of them. This time, however, there were too many people  _ not  _ to have a full cake. There were more sparkling candles than she cared to count, and the twins were both summoned to stand in the center of attention and blow out the flames. They managed to do this, neither catching the other’s hair on fire, nor shoving their sibling’s face into the cake. Overall, Reina counted that a success.

 

“And? How is your cake?” The king had recovered from his contrition—and his pouting—and returned to his normal state of being. He didn’t try the cake because he didn’t often care for sweets, but he observed his twins as they did.

 

“It’s alright,” Noctis said. “Woulda been better if Ignis made it.”

 

“I’m flattered,” said Ignis, who, along with Gladio, had become a permanent addition to their table.

 

Reina shrugged when the king looked at her. “It’s fine. Too bad it’s not a brownie.”

 

The king tsked, “Impossible to please, the both of you.”

 

“We are not. We just have specific and—really—simple tastes,” Reina retorted.

 

Noctis nodded. “A brownie made by Ignis. The ultimate dessert.”

 

The king shook his head in exasperation.

 

From there the evening began to wind down. Despite what she told her father, Reina indulged in a second piece of cake while she sat and conversed with him. Clarus joined them, as well, once he had escaped his knot of councillors, and his daughter came along with him. Reina had always gotten along well with Iris—she didn’t object to either of the additions to the royal table.

 

Eventually, as the night wore on, the crowd began to thin out. Some left in silence, either not wanting to bother the royal family with a farewell or not having the courage to do so. Others came by to wish the twins a happy birthday before drifting off. The reporters left: the lack of cameras changed the entire atmosphere. And just like that, the night transformed from uncomfortably formal to closely content. Soon the crownsguards outnumbered the remaining guests. The servants certainly did—Reina observed that many of them were given leave to go as the party quieted.

 

But, by then, the conversation had become casual enough to be enjoyable and none of the royal family were especially inclined to leave. 

 

“This is nicer. We should have just invited these people, but still had the party here,” Noctis observed, putting his feet up on the chair across from his. 

 

He had pulled off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Reina refrained from telling him that, in spite of his best intentions, he still looked nice. Instead she smiled and glanced about the nearly-empty space. Their table seated eight: in addition to the royal family, there were three Amicitias, Ignis, and Prompto. The other people lingering were not courtiers so much as they were members of the royal household. People Noctis and Reina had grown up with—they didn’t feel quite so stuffy as the others for that reason.

 

Reina yawned and shifted in her chair to lean against her father. He smiled down at her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and kissing her hair.

 

“I saw you dancing, tonight, Reina,” Iris commented brightly. “Well, I mean—of course I did, with Noct, but after that, too. You dance so well! I wish I had your grace.”

 

Reina smiled, feeling sleepy but otherwise in good spirits. She presumed, however, that  _ everyone  _ had seen her dancing with at least one person that night.

 

“I assure you, I wasn’t born with it,” Reina said. “So I’m sure you could learn. If that’s your interest, anyway. It’s not mine, yet here we are.”

 

“You don’t like to dance?” Iris asked.

 

“It’s alright, I suppose. It might be fine… if I got to  _ choose my own partner _ ,” Reina jabbed her father playfully in the ribs.

 

“I was merely assisting!” He objected, shifting away to avoid her elbow, though she noted he didn’t let go of her.

 

Iris laughed. Clarus ducked his head to hide a smile.

 

“Who do you  _ want  _ to dance with, then?” Iris asked.

 

Reina made a noncommittal noise. “It hardly matters. He wouldn’t dance with me, anyway.”

 

“What is this?  _ Who _ ?” The king sat up a little straighter.

 

“Wha-at? I don’t believe that. Anyone would dance with you, Rei,” Iris insisted.

 

“No,” Reina sighed, putting on a mournful face. “I have already asked. He said his  _ knee troubles him too much _ .”

 

Clarus  _ did  _ laugh at that. He threw his head back and laughed, perhaps because the expression on his friend’s face had gone from interested and hopeful to disappointed so very quickly. Iris grinned. Reina shot her father an accusing glare and she only felt a  _ little bit  _ bad about the disappointment he wore. He sighed.

 

“I am cursed with a troublesome daughter,” he said woefully. “Is yours so irksome, Clarus?”

 

“No, never,” Clarus said, in what was unmistakably a lie. He smoothed his hand over Iris’ hair and pulled her into a sideways hug. “However, she isn’t yet of an age that I’m so eager to give her away. You ought to be thankful yours only wants to dance with you, Regis, and isn’t running off with every young man she meets.”

 

“Well when you put it  _ that  _ way,” the king said sourly. He hugged Reina more tightly. She grinned.

 

“I am of two minds,” he sighed. “I should like very much to see her happy and in love. But then I recall, as you have so rightly reminded me, that if she  _ were  _ in love, I should not have her all to myself, anymore.”

 

“Lucky for you I don’t intend to fall in love, then,” Reina said.

 

“I fear it is very rarely concerned with our plans,” her father observed.

 

He left her alone about it, though, and the conversation drifted, taking them through old stories by Clarus and the king. Even Noctis and his friends paused in their talk to listen to those, and Cor joined in with his own additions, once or twice. And when, at length, the stories faded into a comfortable quiet, the remaining attendees of the party sat and listened to the orchestra until Clarus pulled his wife to the dance floor. Though there was some overly enthusiastic cheering at the start, it faded back into a comfortable lull after a song or two. 

 

It was nice. It almost made Reina wonder what it might have been like to have a mother, but she had never really known enough about the once-queen to even miss her. And she could never regret what their family was, now. So she just watched, content, still leaning up against her father. On her other side, Iris was curled up in her chair watching her parents. Occasionally her eyes flicked toward Noctis—Reina considered taking pity on her and telling Noct to dance with her, but she wasn’t sure that she wanted to deal with arguing with her twin. Let Gladio make him do it.

 

She had not, however, let go of her desire to dance with her father. There was hardly anyone left; the cameras had long since turned off: no one was going to care if they looked undignified.

 

Finally she worked up the courage to give it one last attempt. 

 

She sat up, turning to look at her father, who raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question.

 

“Come dance with me,” she said.

 

“Reina…” he began, shifting in his seat. “I thought we had agreed that was not something I was capable of, anymore.”

 

What was he afraid of, she wondered? Not actually his knee, surely—though that was cause for caution.

 

“You do want to, don’t you?”

 

“ _ Of course _ I do, my dear. But I fear you shall only be disappointed.”

 

Reina considered him, putting pieces together in her mind. Did he think she expected to be spirited away by some impressive display of skill? She smiled up at him.

 

“Father.” She took his hands—they still dwarfed hers, as they had when she was young—and looked earnestly at him. “I’m not asking you to dance because I believe you’ll somehow make us look extraordinarily coordinated. I’m asking because you’re my favorite person. Because you really are—and always have been—the only man in my life. Because you’re my father. And every little girl grows up wanting to dance with her dad. Maybe I won’t get married—maybe we’ll never have a dance before you give me away—but I want  _ this _ , if nothing else.”

 

The look on his face said he was too stunned for words, but more than that: it was gratitude and it was love and warmth. What surprised her most, though, was how overbright his eyes were. 

 

“How could I possibly say no to that?” The tears didn’t fall, but his smile quivered and his voice came out quiet and restrained.

 

Reina beamed, though her father’s reaction had  _ her  _ feeling like crying. She helped him to his feet, walking on his right arm as they rounded the table and moved toward the dance floor. There were no raucous cheers accompanying them, as they had for Clarus, but Reina could just about feel the eyes following their progress. She ignored them. There was only one person who really mattered, just then.

 

She stood in front of her father and smiled up at him. His left hand he needed for his cane and there was simply no way around that. But the important hand was really the right one, anyway. She set her left hand on his right arm—he was much too tall to comfortably reach his shoulder—and his right hand settled on her back. Since she had an extra hand, she rested it over his, atop his cane.

 

“Have you plans, beyond this step?” He inquired.

 

“Not really,” Reina admitted.

 

“That is unlike you.”

 

“I know. I thought we could just make something up, for once.”

 

In spite of the dubious look he wore, he followed when she led. Strictly speaking, that was his job, but he wasn’t doing it, so she took initiative. The first step worked fine, while his weight was on his good leg. The second fumbled and Reina shifted her arm to lend him some extra support. So it wasn’t the right position for a waltz, anymore—it hadn’t really been, in the first place. Who was counting, anyway?

 

It took a few cycles before they found a method that worked. Every other step was too fast for the dance, but she didn’t care. Her father’s hand ended up settled more atop her shoulders than across her back: with both her and his cane, he kept his balance and they settled into a modified waltz.

 

“Have you grown taller?” He asked, a furrow on his brow, once he seemed comfortable enough to think about something besides where his feet were going.

 

Reina giggled. “I’m wearing heels.”

 

It wasn’t all that uncommon for her, though it had been more common a few years ago. Now she tended to choose slightly more practical footwear, not knowing when she might have to aid him in walking.

 

“Ah,” he said. “Good.”

 

“Good that I’m wearing heels or good that I haven’t grown?”

 

“The latter.” He gave her a wry smile. “You are simply not permitted to grow any bigger.”

 

“ _ Father _ ,” she said severely, “I am five feet tall.”

 

“That is quite enough.”

 

“I am below  _ chin height _ to you!”

 

“Indeed. If you were any taller I should have to stretch to tuck you under my chin. I much prefer this height.”

 

She tried to look exasperated. It came out as a smile that she was doing a poor job of hiding. 

 

“Well, I shouldn’t think there’s much risk of me growing, at this point in my life,” she pointed out.

 

“Is there truly cause to? At this height I can go on pretending that my little girl will never grow up, indefinitely.”

 

Reina was torn between teasing him about teasing  _ her _ , and dwelling too long on the fact that he had called her his ‘little girl.’ Her eyes shined as she smiled up at him, but she couldn’t resist the urge to tease him forever.

 

“Funny. I thought you were just pushing your little girl off to find a young man, earlier tonight…”

 

He grimaced, a regretful look settling on his face. “You know I only tease you, my dear.”

 

She smiled; the desire to poke fun of him dissolved in the face of his sincerity. “I know, Father.”

 

She knew and—though she was never going to tell him—she loved it. She leaned up to give him a kiss on the cheek.

 

“Perhaps I would be quite lost if you did leave me for another man,” he admitted sheepishly.

 

“Well then I’ll just have to refrain,” Reina said. “And I promise not to grow any taller, either. Not even if given the choice.”

 

He was giving her that look, again. Like he didn’t quite know what to make of her but wouldn’t have changed it for the world. For the remainder of the song they just danced—such as it was—and enjoyed the other’s silent company. With heels she was too tall to tuck her head under his chin, as he had noted, but she tucked herself up against his chest, anyway. Whenever she looked up at him their eyes caught and a contagious smile spread. She didn’t regret dragging him to the dance floor. He didn’t regret it, either.

 

Eventually the song did end, though they might not have noticed at all, if it hadn’t been for the enthusiastic applause from their small audience. 

 

They turned to find all the remaining members of the party clustered on the head table watching them. Clarus and his wife, who had been dancing when they had joined the floor, were also there. Reina didn’t even remember them moving away. 

 

She exchanged a glance with the king, then a half-shrug. If they were already the center of attention, it seemed pointless to fight it. She took her skirt in hand and gave her best curtsy; on her left, the king bowed stiffly, as if unaccustomed to the motion. But of course—Reina gave a short laugh—when would the king possibly have cause to bow?

 

They rejoined the table as the applause died down.

 

“Now, then. I do believe the hour is growing on toward midnight. Have you both had your fill of birthday celebrations? Noctis? Reina?”

 

Noctis gave a shrug, punctuated by a yawn. “Yeah. I already crushed everyone in Charge of Treachery like five times—”

 

“—you did  _ not _ —”

 

“—so I’m all set.”

 

Reina smiled when their father turned his eyes on her, raising his eyebrows.

 

“I had my birthday wish,” she said.

 

He smiled as well.

 

“Then I believe tradition dictates you both receive a birthday present. Unfortunately, I was forced to leave them on the street, so we shall have to walk.”

 

The twins exchanged curious looks; ultimately Noct shrugged. They both knew it wasn’t going to do any good to ask, however much they wondered what he could have gotten that needed to be left on the ground.

 

So the king—flanked by his children—led the way to the lower level. They took an elevator, and what remained of the guests managed to crowd in along with them.

 

“It’s a car, isn’t it?” Noct said as the lift stopped in the lobby. 

 

The king gave no response. In fact, he gave no sign he had heard at all. 

 

Noctis caught Reina’s eye. “It’s a car.”

 

Reina grinned at him. Maybe it was, but, to be fair, she had no idea what she would even do with a car. Admire it, probably. She never went anywhere. Besides, she would have been happy with no present at all. What more did she really need?

 

More crownsguards were waiting on the ground floor. The glass doors to the street were opened for them and, per Noctis’ prediction, a pair of sleek sports cars sat at the curb. 

 

“Whoa,” Noct breathed, momentarily stopping at the top of the steps.

 

On the outside, the cars were nearly identical. The same smooth body and two-door design, painted in different colors: one in black with silver detail, the other in aubergine with gold. Reina knew before the king said so that they were completely custom. Such cars didn’t exist anywhere, inside or outside of the Crown City, save for the two that sat before them. 

 

Noct skipped down the steps, landing near his car—there was little doubt in either mind that one was definitely his and the other hers—and running his fingers over the gleaming black body.

 

Reina proceeded more slowly, walking beside the king and assisting him down the stairs. When they hit the bottom he shooed her away, insisting that she go and admire her own birthday present. She did so, shooting him a smile and made a turn around the purple car with her fingers just skimming the paint. When she had gone all the way around, she was grinning.

 

“Drautos,” the king motioned and his captain appeared; Reina was in too good of spirits to even feel irked at his presence, though she noted he hadn’t been in attendance, before.

 

Drautos approached, reaching into his pocket and drawing out two sets of keys, which he deposited in the king’s outstretched hand. 

 

“Does this mean we’re free?” Noct asked, taking the key ring that was offered to him. Reina took hers, cradling it in her hands like some precious thing, and grinned at Noct’s question.

 

“You have  _ complete  _ freedom,” the king confirmed.

 

“Great,” Noctis said in that mildly bored tone he usually used. “Let’s go.”

 

He paused before taking a step toward his car and looked at Reina. “Where are we going?”

 

It was a bit late to go anywhere, really, and Reina wasn’t going to leave the king on his own for the night. But there was one birthday tradition yet to be held. She grabbed the front of her brother’s vest and pulled him close enough to whisper in his ear.

 

Noctis groaned. “You’re such a spoilsport.  _ Fine _ . I’ll just go home in my shiny new car. Anyone want a ride?”

 

After some brief farewells, the remaining few of their party climbed into various cars. For perhaps the first time in his life, Noctis drove Ignis. Reina ended up behind the wheel in her own car with her father beside her and Cor in the back. 

 

“What did you say to Noctis?” Her father asked.

 

“Nothing.” Reina smiled sweetly.

 

He gave her a look that said he didn’t believe her for a moment, but he didn’t ask again. Instead, he said: “I shall not tell you to obey the speed limit, given the number of years in my youth that I ignored it, but please at least tell me you will.”

 

Reina grinned at him, “You know me, Father. I  _ always  _ obey the rules.”

 

He considered her for a moment, then gave her a nod. “I appreciate the lie, my dear.”

 

Overall, she did fairly well not speeding. It  _ was  _ difficult to refrain when she had a brand new sports car at her fingertips. She contented herself with testing the acceleration between stop lights. Neither her father nor Cor scolded her for it.

 

The drive back to the Citadel was short, anyway, though there was thankfully scant traffic on the way, at this time of night. Reina left her car—somewhat reluctantly—in safe hands and went up with her father, bidding him goodnight at his door and returning to her own room. 

 

She took one last minute to admire the effect of her birthday gown before hanging it up and stepping into the shower. When she got out, Noctis was sitting on her bed, back to his normal attire.

 

“Took you long enough. I went around the long way and I was still ready first,” he drawled, standing up as she approached.

 

“Shut up.”

 

“You shut up.”

 

“No,  _ you  _ shut up.”

 

It was a chain that could never be broken. It continued in a pointless loop all the way down the hall to the king’s bedroom, where the crownsguards outside bowed and admitted them without fuss.

 

“Goodnight, Prince Noctis, Princess Reina.”

 

“Goodnight,” Reina offered a smile to the guards.

 

“I win,” said Noctis, as she had neglected to respond to his last issuance of ‘shut up’ in lieu of bidding the crownsguards goodnight.

 

They stepped inside and the door shut behind them.

 

“Shut up.”

 

“It’s too late. I already won.”

 

“I’ll show you winning, you little—”

 

The king cleared his throat. 

 

Reina dropped her fists and folded her hands behind her back, turning to give her father the most innocent smile she could muster. He was sitting up, changed out of his formal attire but seated in one of the armchairs outside his bedroom.

 

“I take it Noctis did  _ not  _ return to his apartment,” he observed.

 

“She blackmailed me,” Noctis said, wrapping one arm around Reina’s neck and pulling her into a sideways almost-hug, with the intent of mischief over affection. He ruffled her hair aggressively.

 

“I’m going to kill you,” Reina ducked out, freeing her head and pushing her now-tangled hair from her face. 

 

“Come now, my dear. What have I told you about threats?” The king pushed himself to his feet with his cane and stepped around the armchair.

 

Reina sighed. “I’m going to open all of the Cup Noodles in your apartment and replace the noodles with styrofoam, then seal them back up.”

 

Noctis stared at her for a moment in silence. Then: “I believe you would do it.”

 

Reina smirked. She joined her father, taking his free arm and following him into the other room.

 

“I take it you are both staying here tonight?” He asked.

 

“When was the last time we had a birthday where we  _ didn’t  _ stay here?” She answered his question with a question.

 

“You may have been two at the time,” he said.

 

“What? You didn’t spend our second birthday with us? Gods all—what kind of father are you?” Noctis drawled, following them.

 

“A questionable one at best,” their father admitted. He sat on the edge of his bed and let Reina take his cane. “Incidentally my dear, do you truly mean to follow through on your threat from earlier?”

 

Reina grinned and joined him on the bed, laying face-first in the pillows for a moment before she decided to respond.

 

“I believe an equally important skill for any good politician… is the bluff.”

 

“So you’re not replacing my noodles with styrofoam?”

 

“No, I’m still doing that. Would you get in here, already?” Reina held the blankets for her twin. 

 

Noctis made a face. “Twenty is too old for cuddling.”

 

“But nineteen wasn’t?”

 

“I’m not a teenager anymore, Reina!”

 

“Shut up and get in bed.”

 

“Ugh. So demanding.” He did it, in spite of his complaints. “You don’t talk to Dad like this, do you? Does she?” 

 

“She certainly does.”

 

“I do not!”

 

“I knew it.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“You shut up.”

 

“Please, might we pretend you both love each other very much? Just for one night.”

 

“Sorry, Father.”

 

“I guess,” Noctis sighed.

 

Then he elbowed Reina in the ribs.

 

“I hate you,” she growled.

 

The king sighed, putting his arms around his daughter and pulling her away from Noct.

 

“Too much to ask, as I feared,” he noted, then yawned. “At least hate each other quietly.”

 

Reina grinned, but snuggled up to her father and left her brother well enough alone. For the time.

 

“Goodnight, Father.”

 

“Night, Dad.”

 

“Goodnight, dearest ones.”


	42. Zenith

######  _ Spring, 756: _

_ (One month before) _

 

For all her father fussed over it, Reina had no regrets over the life changes she had made for him. Indeed, she couldn’t remember having ever being happier. 

 

Reina smiled more often than not when they were together. Those were the years when she had everything she had ever wanted. She had her father’s love, his attention more often than not, and even—it seemed—his respect. She made him smile. Sometimes she didn’t even do anything to deserve it; she just looked up and found him beaming at her.

 

The king, by all reports, was often in high spirits as well. It was a more common sight, now, to see him with his daughter on his arm than without. He kept her counsel, and even when they weren’t discussing work they were nigh inseparable. Anyone who watched for any length of time would soon be repaid for their trouble by the otherwise rare sight of His Majesty’s smile, the sound of his low, rolling chuckle mixing with his daughter’s light musical laughter. 

 

He  _ was  _ her best friend. And he would have been even if she hadn’t long since stopped seeing her other friends. Reina would have done anything for him, given anything. She loved him more than her own life.

 

For the most part, his health held: after she swore off nights out with her friends, he never again failed to sleep through the night; he managed his own responsibilities—any remaining that Reina hadn’t managed to convince him to part with—without hitch, and if there ever was trouble, Reina was always present to handle it; his headaches had become either nonexistent or else dispatched shortly. In the meantime, they  _ did  _ find time to enjoy themselves.

 

That day, the Kingsglaive was deployed and the court was in recess until word came back from the front. Spring had well and truly sprung; the Citadel gardens were all colored pale pink with blossoms. It seemed a shame not to appreciate the sunshine while it was there, especially when they spent so many hours cooped up inside every day.

 

“When was the last time you saw the sun?” Reina asked, only half-idly, as they moved through the hall from the audience chamber—free until evening council.  

 

“I daresay I saw it through the window, this morning,” he said.

 

“Up close?” She tried again.

 

“Never, thank the Astrals.”

 

She made a face at him. He smiled.

 

“King Regis Lucis Caelum: wise, merciful… smart ass,” Reina observed, giving his arm a tug and changing their course. 

 

There was a pair of double doors—glass with black iron vines twisting through—that led out to the courtyard. The crownsguards who stood to either side bowed to them and held the doors open so that king and princess could pass.

 

“But of course,” the king said. “Where did you think you and Noctis have it from?”

 

Reina heaved a dramatic sigh. “And here I thought it was our originality and individuality showing through. To learn our  _ father  _ has it, too… such a disappointment.”

 

They set a leisurely pace along the twisting stone path that wound through the gardens. Cherry blossoms littered the path and colored the grass. It did look terribly inviting—when had been the last time she had laid out in the grass on a spring afternoon?—but for now they merely walked, their motions punctuated by the click of the king’s cane and the creak of his brace.

 

“I do apologize. Truly. Shall I reinforce that you are special?” 

 

“I think you had better.” Reina tucked both of her hands around his arm.

 

“You are are truly unique. Your rarity causes snowflakes to seethe in envy. It is often said that there are other fish in the ocean, but even if one searched far and wide for a lifetime, another of your calibre would never be located.” He made silly claims with a wry smile and Reina couldn’t help but laugh. When he looked down at her, his expression grew affectionate rather than amused, though the smile lingered. “You are one of a kind: intelligent, perceptive, beautiful—you leave people with a sense of… inspiration. From the bottom of my heart I am grateful to know you. And I am even more honored to call you my daughter.”

 

Reina flushed, half pleased, half embarrassed. Somehow he had transitioned seamlessly from teasing her to praising her. It was almost difficult to pinpoint just where the switch had happened, because the praise sounded nearly as absurd, to her ears, in spite of his earnest expression.

 

“Now you’ve just gotten silly,” she said dryly.

 

The king tsked. “I endeavor to be a supportive, loving father, and she deflects with sarcasm. Perhaps I have done wrong in your youth. Not enough love when you were a child.”

 

“I am well and truly ruined for life,” Reina agreed. She made up her mind about the grass and led him off the path.

 

“Grass and canes do not mix well, my dear.” His tone was back to wry as he halted at the edge of the stone.

 

Reina beamed up at him, “We won’t go far. Just to that crest. You can lean on me.”

 

She let go of his arm and tucked herself underneath.

 

He gave her a long-suffering look and resettled his arm across her shoulders. “Very well. Lead on, Imp.”

 

They moved more slowly off the path, in no small part due to the fact that his cane sank into the grass and gave a little less support for it. Reina made up for that, to the best of her ability. She, at least, wasn’t wont to sink into grass when leaned upon. At last they made it to the top, no worse for the wear.

 

“And now?” Her father inquired, once they had arrived.

 

The little hill was occupied by a single tree with long, sweeping branches sporting fresh green buds. It wasn’t an especially high hill, but it gave a nice view of the castle gardens from the top. The grass was plush and soft and it seemed to Reina about the best spot to be.

 

“Now we sit,” Reina said.

 

He gave her another one of those looks. This one made her suspect that he was beginning to regret coming up in the first place. She smiled innocently back up at him.

 

“I daresay I might manage the sitting part, but never shall I stand again, if I do,” he said dryly.

 

“Lucky for you, then, that you have an intelligent, perceptive, beautiful daughter to help.” Reina slipped out from beneath his arm and grasped his wrist, taking a stance behind him.

 

“My intelligent, perceptive, beautiful daughter is going to be the death of me,” he grumbled good-naturedly as he accepted her help to sit. 

 

He lowered to the ground, his left leg supporting the brunt of his weight as his braced knee slid out. Reina kept his balance and ensured he didn’t fall. Once he was seated she dropped down behind him. She stretched out in the grass on her back with her knees up, making a sound of contentment. Her father half-turned to look at her.

 

“You will be a favorite of the servants with those grass stains,” he remarked.

 

Reina glanced at her dress, resettled her skirt, and stuck her tongue out at him. “It’s practically all black, anyway.”

 

She patted the grass beside her and, with a sigh of resignation, he shifted his seat and leaned back carefully until he lay perpendicular to her with her stomach as a pillow. 

 

“Now just  _ try  _ to tell me this wasn’t worth the trouble.” Reina took his crown and smoothed his hair back.

 

“Mmm… very well.” He shut his eyes. “I admit defeat.”

 

Reina smiled, setting his crown in the grass and resting her hand on his chest. He covered her hand with his and for a moment they were quiet, each with their own thoughts, content merely to be out together, enjoying the spring afternoon. 

 

Eventually her father spoke again.

 

“You know that I mean every word, my dear.”

 

She turned her eyes from the sky to find him looking at her. “Hm?”

 

“For all that you tease me—and, indeed, I deserve it—I  _ do  _ mean what I say of you.”

 

“That I’m intelligent, perceptive, and beautiful?” Reina inquired, trying not to sound skeptical.

 

“And then some, yes.” He held to her hand and looked earnestly up at her. 

 

Reina considered him for a time, trying to decide what to make of him, before turning her head back to look to the sky once more.

 

“I don’t know if I can believe those things,” she admitted.

 

“Then perhaps you can endeavor to believe that  _ I  _ believe them.”

 

She smiled, turning her gaze again. He smiled back.

 

“Perhaps I can try,” she agreed.

 

The remainder of the day passed in relative comfort and similar company. Even through the evening council meeting there was a warmth and cheer that couldn’t be extinguished by the grim state of the kingdom. It seemed that their bond could light the way even through the darkest days.

 

When they retired that night, Reina had no concept of what the night held in store. She had no idea, when she drifted off, safe and comfortable in her father’s room, that when she woke the following morning everything would be different.


	43. Farewell

######  _ 19 August, 756: _

_ (Three months after) _

 

Daemons poured out of every opening into the hangar. Some didn’t appear to come from anywhere at all. No matter how many they cut down, fifty more rose to fill the gaps. Daemons like would never have been seen in Lucis, even in the middle of the night.

 

Why so many? Were these the once-occupants of the keep? Of Gralea? And why  _ now _ ? They had been stumbling through Zegnautus Keep for days—or so it seemed—with few daemons in sight. Now they were surrounded by hundreds. Thousands. 

 

The answer was wrapped up in the voice that followed their progress; the velvety words of the chancellor, taunting them through every step. If all the humans in Gralea had become daemons, it served to reason that whatever Izunia was, he wasn’t human. He  _ controlled  _ the daemons. Much as Reina would have liked to know how or why, she had hardly enough room to swing her blade in, let alone think about anything besides staying alive.

 

Ignis’ back pressed against hers. She couldn’t be his eyes everywhere, not with so many of them, but their position did have the added advantage of holding blades on both sides—even if one side was blind. 

 

She swept her naginata out, cutting across the sunken abdomen of an alberich. She didn’t watch it dissolve in purple smoke; she turned to the next one, instead. Against her back, she felt Ignis shifting, doing the same. When she moved, he moved; they cut through the daemons together, a two-sided blade, always remaining in contact. For each daemon they cut down, two more sprang up. They were never leaving this place alive, none of them, not unless— 

 

“Noct. You must go on alone.” Ignis’ voice carried over the sounds of battle.

 

“What?” Noct shouted. He had heard. He just didn’t want to register it.

 

“If you can obtain the crystal’s power, we may yet be able to turn the tide. Elsewise, we are all like to perish here.” Ignis only said what everyone already knew.

 

Reina, however, knew something else. When Noctis went to claim the power of the crystal, he wouldn’t return. Not for a long time.

 

“Iggy’s right. It’s our only chance,” Gladio said.

 

She hazarded a glance toward Noctis between daemons. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye. How could she let him do this on his own?

 

It might have killed her to let go of him, if there had been anything left inside to die. This was a path she could not follow him down; she had to take the long road and see to it that everyone else made it through, as well. It was what their father would have wanted. See to the people. Protect the people.

 

“But what about you?” Noct had made a tentative motion for the lift, but he looked back. Though he cast his eyes over all of them, it was Reina he fixed on.

 

Reina rammed her blade through another daemon, setting her jaw. “Go, Noctis!” 

 

“You go with him, Reina,” said Ignis. 

 

She shook her head. “My place is here.”

 

If she turned her back on them, if she went with Noctis, they would have one less blade against the flow of daemons. And Ignis would lose his other half. Without her, how would he stand in combat? Leaving was as good as killing him, herself.

 

“There is  _ no time _ to argue.” Ignis caught her arm and twisted so they faced each other. 

 

For one instant the rage of battle slowed around them. It was only a second that they stood, but it seemed much longer. His hand moved from her arm to her face. His thumb brushed her jaw. Before she registered what was happening, his mouth was on hers, hot and fevered of motion. Her brain stalled. In that moment, she didn’t feel any particular surprise associated with the suddenness, nor the action itself. The only thought in her mind was this: he wouldn’t have done it if he believed he would live.

 

Then they were apart. 

 

“Go with Noctis.” His voice was hushed, his face flushed. “Noctis needs you.”

 

His words echoed in her memory, so close to what her father had said when he had pushed her away. 

 

She had never seen him again, either.

 

A daemon exploded by her ear, inches away when Prompto’s bullet caught it. The time for goodbyes was over.

 

“We’ll manage somehow. Just get moving,” Prompto yelled.

 

Reina bit back tears. She held onto Ignis’ hand for as long as she could before distance made them split. 

 

_ A king pushes onward always, accepting the consequences and never looking back. _

 

It was time to push onward. It was time to make a decision and accept what came after. It was time to run and never look back, because they couldn’t, because they were out of time, because bigger things were at stake than lives. And because it was the only way.

 

She caught up with Noctis and she didn’t even have to pull him away. The lift landed and he grabbed her hand, warping them past the daemon hoard and straight through the opening doors. There was time, while the doors closed behind them. They could have given one last glance to those they left behind.

 

But they didn’t look back.

 

It was a short walk down the catwalks to the other end of the hangar, but the chancellor made them run; his voice followed them, taunting.

 

“Betraying your friends for the greater good—the mark of a monarch! Step forward, Your Majesty!” 

 

At the end, they found what they were looking for.

 

The crystal hung before them; a glowing purple stone amidst all the black of metal. It had been some years since she had seen it through her own eyes, rather than in some dream of a memory. The last time had been in Insomnia, with the king beside her. Now they were miles away from home, so far down the winding road chasing Noctis’ destiny that they could hardly see where they had come from anymore.

 

And they couldn’t look back.

 

If they looked back they would see all those they had left behind, everyone who was so willing to put the lives of the royal family before their own. Biggs and Wedge, left on a the train as it was overrun with daemons; Ravus, tainted and transformed to a monster for his efforts on their behalf; Luna, lost to the tide as her last breath was given in Noct’s defense; their father, willing to sacrifice the whole Crown City, the whole kingdom, for his children and the future they safeguarded; Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto, holding back the unending tide of daemons so the twins could push onward.

 

If they thought about it, they might falter.

 

Noctis squeezed her hand in his and reached out for the crystal.

 

“Noct, wait.”

 

His hand halted, fingers still outstretched toward the crystal. “What?”

 

“This doesn’t happen like you think it does.”

 

Had they all really believed it would? Had  _ she  _ believed it would? Some miracle would happen and transform her brother into the King of Kings in an instant? There were flashes of it, here and there—the power he wielded, the blessings from the Gods—but he wasn’t ready and everyone knew it.

 

“What?”

 

“You don’t gain the power of the crystal, today,” Reina said, her voice strangely even in spite of what she had seen coming. “Today we say goodbye.”

 

He faced her full on, his hand falling back to his side. “What are you talking about?”

 

“I dreamed the future, last night. Patches of it—images like puzzle pieces that didn’t fit together until they happened. You will have the power to bring light back to the world, but to gain it you must slumber in the heart of the crystal for a time.”

 

Noct was looking at her like she had slapped him in the face. She held his hand, still, but she was ready. She  _ had to  _ be ready.

 

“This is the way it must be,” she whispered.

 

“I’ll just be inside there? Cut off, and I won’t see anyone again? For how long??”

 

Reina shook her head, “I saw time from inside the crystal and everything was distorted. We’ll see you again when you re-emerge; it didn’t seem too long from inside, and we’ll be waiting for you.”

 

She didn’t tell him that when he did return, it would only be to give his life for the light. She didn’t tell him, either, that she knew the time would be much longer from the outside.

 

“So I just go in, and when I come out I have the power I need?”

 

Reina nodded.

 

“Right.” He took a tentative step toward the crystal, still holding her hand, before he stopped and turned back to her. “If the others are—well… take care of them, alright? Especially Ignis.”

 

Reina’s stomach lurched uncomfortably. “I will.”

 

“And yourself! Don’t you dare give up!” For once it was Noctis’ eyes that were bright while Reina’s were dry. “I love you, damn it, Rei—and Dad does, too, still. Don’t forget.”

 

“I won’t. And I know. I love you, too, Noct. My heart goes with you; I’ll be waiting for you.”

 

He took another step. His fingers fell away from hers and he reached out for the crystal once more.

 

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Noct murmured as his hand rested in the glow of the crystal. “Let’s do this.”

 

Light flared within the crystal, reaching out to him like a living thing, grasping him, holding him, pulling him, dragging until his whole arm was caught, his hand lost in the light. He cried out in pain but didn’t struggle against it. He knew what had to be done, what must happen.

 

“Reina—!” He turned from the light, reaching out his other hand to her. “The ring—take it!”

 

Reina’s eyes widened, her gaze landing on the black ring that she had seen so often upon her father’s hand—it looked strange on Noct’s finger, but he had taken the power and mastered it.

 

He had needed to, trapped alone in Gralea with no weapons while Reina stumbled after with Ignis and Gladio. She still didn’t know all that had happened while they were apart—now she never would—but it had been important. It had pushed Noct farther down his path, ten steps closer to taking his place.

 

Now he held the ring out to her, and all that went along with it.

 

She shook her head, “It’s not for me, Noct.”

 

“It’s for the royal family, and any others true enough to wield our ancestors’ power—you’re  _ both _ . Now take it! Use it—I won’t need it where I’m going. Save them. Keep everyone… Keep them safe. Until I get back.” The crystal dragged at him.

 

Still she hesitated. A part of her wanted the ring more than anything. A part of her was terrified of it.

 

“ _ Take it! _ ”

 

The warning was clear enough without being voiced, the urgency blatant as the light swallowed more of him.  _ Take it before it’s too late. _

 

She had to, her own fears be damned. He was right—if she could do some good for their people with its power, then she needed it. Reina reached out, her fingers brushing his one last time before she slipped the ring from his finger and closed it in her palm.

 

“See you soon,” he said.

 

“Yeah,” said Reina. It was no place for a goodbye; she couldn’t afford that.

 

He turned to the light. The crystal flared once more, then grew dim.

 

Behind her, three sets of feet clanged on the metal bridge. Reina turned. Her eyes were dry. Inside, she only felt hollow. Noctis was gone. She had thought the emptiness in her heart was painful after the loss of her father, and it  _ had  _ been, but she hadn’t realized how much was still full of Noctis until he, too, was stripped from her.

 

She was completely alone, for the first time in her life.

 

Her eyes landed on Ignis. Blood streaked his face; a cut marred his forehead over one eye—just one more to add to his repertoire—but he was  _ alive _ . She didn’t have time to think about that kiss he had given her—had it really only been minutes ago? It felt like years. What mattered, now, was that he was alive. They all were.

 

_ “Keep them safe. Until I get back.” _

 

Perhaps she wasn’t  _ completely  _ alone. 

 

“Reina! Where’s Noct?” Gladio asked.

 

“Within,” Reina said quietly, looking back toward the crystal.

 

There was a stunned silence. 

 

“Noctis has… gone inside the crystal?” Ignis inquired.

 

“To do what must be done. To gain the power he needs and become the King of Kings,” Reina said, answering the question no one had asked.

 

Again there was silence. Eventually, Prompto broke it.

 

“So… what do we do, now?”

 

Reina turned, pulling her eyes away from the crystal but still clutching the ring to her chest. She lowered her hand slowly, peeling her fingers back to look at the ring displayed in her palm. It looked so small, so innocuous, but it carried more weight than words could express. Now Reina understood how Noctis had felt; she didn’t want to put it on, either.

 

“Now,” Reina said, lifting her eyes to look at Noctis’ retinue. “We survive.”


	44. A Suspect Proposition

######  _ 13 April, 756: _

 

It was a scene she would never forget, played out before her eyes. She could see everything in sharp focus. She could see the sunlight glinting off the black tile of the audience chamber, a perfect and unblemished expanse of black marble. She could see the lines in her father’s face, each hair in his beard.

 

That day in April was the first she laid eyes on the Imperial Chancellor. She didn’t know, then, what he was—that he would be the cause of all the ill in the world—but she despised him from the start. It was a feeling deep in the pit of her stomach, a sensation of wrongness. But it wasn’t the first time she had experienced that feeling; there was one other person in Eos that instilled in her such an immediate sense of distrust. Somehow, the chancellor didn’t frighten her as much as Titus Drautos did.

 

From the moment he set foot in the throne room, the chancellor was overflowing with mockery. He was all smiles and good manners in the the most disrespectful way possible. His arrogance was clear, as was Niflheim’s in sending him as their envoy.

 

“Ardyn Izunia. Chancellor of Niflheim. At your  _ humble _ service.” Every word that fell from his mouth was carefully dipped in disdain. The over-elaborate bow he gave was more jest than anything else. “And I come to you, on this most auspicious of days, to offer terms of peace.”

 

Even from the seat beside her father, Reina could sense the tension in him. She wanted to take his hand or, if nothing else, set her hand on the arm of his throne as an invitation. But this—whatever the chancellor would have them believe with his flowered words—was a negotiation. Every word, every action was carefully weighed. So she did nothing at all, sitting perfectly still and perfectly straight in her seat beside the king’s throne, and listened as if her life depended on it.

 

“Peace?” Her father said it like it was some unfamiliar concept. After so many years, it was—to hear Niflheim proposing it was stranger. Reina was willing to bet that the prominent emotion in the room was skepticism, at that moment.

 

“As you no doubt surmised, that recent maneuver of ours was no strategic retreat. Call it… a gesture of goodwill. Like you, we wish nothing more than to bring a swift end to this senseless war.” Chancellor Izunia persisted, apparently overlooking the doubt he was faced with.

 

“Is that so?” Somehow, the king managed to convey every inch of his disbelief without ever straying from his schooled, polite tone.

 

“It is indeed. And we require but a  _ singular _ compliance.” The chancellor climbed the stairs toward the throne as if he belonged there. No one interrupted him; it was a careful game of cat and mouse they played and Lucis was the mouse. Niflheim was winning the war—indeed, given enough time, they  _ would  _ win the war. It was no secret that the empire was in an excellent position to make demands. So they listened. “Save your grand Insomnia, here, Lucis must forfeit all territories to Niflheim rule.”

 

A shocked murmur ran through the court. All eyes turned from the chancellor to the king to see what their leader’s reaction to Niflheim’s demand would be. He lifted his hand to silence any further talk; his expression one of barely contained acrimony. Though the king said nothing, from her place beside him Reina heard the sound of anger that escaped him, half-growl, like he was fighting the urge to crush Izunia then and there.

 

Apparently oblivious to the tension in the room, Chancellor Izunia continued. “Ah, Insomnia. The jewel in the crown of the Lucian kingdom.” He swept his hands, gesturing grandly to the throne room, then stopped, his eyes suddenly landing back on the king.

 

“How foolish of me to forget. There is one more—trivial—thing. It concerns your son.” 

 

If her father was tense before, those words twisted the line toward breaking. They were in an uncomfortable place; Reina knew, as her father did, that they were in no position to deny the empire much if it bought peace, but at the same time… 

 

The expression on the king’s face shifted from contempt—it was unreadable as he kept his eyes fixed on the chancellor, but Reina knew the look as fear. It wasn’t an expression she wanted to see on her father’s face.

 

“The fetching Prince Noctis of Lucis and the fair Princess Lunafreya of Tenebrae… they are to be wed.” 

 

Reina had to stop herself from breathing her relief. Noctis marry Luna? Surely there were worse fates. But that was just what had been put on the table, and the fact that they pushed it forward… 

 

She didn’t trust them for an instant.

 

The anger returned to the king’s face, more clear, now, held in check less carefully. Demands on Noctis were destined to be met with that reaction from him.

 

“You seem vexed, Your Highness. I assure you, the princess still holds you in the highest regard.”

 

If he had been angry before, her father was furious by then. Reina wondered if the chancellor had used the incorrect honorific on purpose—‘Highness’ was the title reserved for a prince or a princess, while a king was always ‘Your Majesty’—it was more believable than that he didn’t know his misstep. But to pretend and spit once more at their feet seemed just his style.

 

The Imperial Chancellor gave them more than enough to think about. He left in his wake more questions than answers, more doubts and suspicions than confidence and clarity. There would be days of argument before a decision was reached, Reina knew that, at least.

 

“I do not believe the empire means to make peace with us.”

 

The hallway they walked through was all but deserted: king and princess moved through, arm in arm, as they were wont to do. At his daughter’s words, the king turned his head to look at her, breaking from his reverie.

 

“No. Nor do I. They have little to gain through this treaty that they could not take in time, regardless. These demands they pose…” he shook his head slowly. “I know not what to make of them.”

 

“They are snakes. And they send a snake with honeyed words, making clear he means none of them… “ Reina smiled bitterly. “I must admit a begrudging respect. The chancellor was so careful to make sure we knew he lied that everything thereafter becomes muddled. We have no hint of what they want at all.”

 

“Indeed,” he said, giving her a fleeting smile. “We must tread carefully. For now, we must fill Noctis in; the council will debate his future tomorrow. He should know. Would you do me the service of calling him home?”

 

“Of course, Father.”

 

She did so as soon as they were settled in the king’s study. People would be in and out for what remained of the afternoon, Reina guessed, so she took the brief moments of silence to pick up her phone. She called her brother’s number and pressed her phone against her ear, listening to the ringtone. For a fleeting moment, as she unconsciously counted rings, she feared that he wouldn’t answer. It hit her like a spike to the stomach, an instant of inexplicable terror.

 

Then he answered.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Reina had to fight not to breathe a sigh of relief, but she didn’t know why. He always answered. And even if he didn’t, it would have been for some trivial reason: he had forgotten to charge his phone or was driving through a deadzone. Nothing to warrant that sensation of panic, however brief.

 

“Noct, what are you up to, right now? Can you come home?” She kept her tone casual, not wanting him to be worried—it was serious, but not catastrophic.

 

“I guess so—what’s up? Is Dad okay?”

 

“He’s fine.” Reina hastened to assure her brother. She set her free hand, almost unconsciously, on her father’s shoulder as he looked up at her. “We just need to discuss some things, preferably today. It’s political—I’ll fill you in when you get here.”

 

“Alright,” Noct said, in a tone that suggested he wished she would just tell him  _ now _ . “Guess I’ll be up, then.”

 

“Okay, see you soon. Come to Father’s study.”

 

“Sure. See ya.”

 

No sooner had she ended the call than a knock sounded at the door. Reina exchanged a look with the king, who sat in one of the high-backed armchairs.

 

“So it begins,” he said, raising his eyebrows at her. He waved, motioning that she should open the door, and Reina hastened to do as she was bidden. 

 

It was Clarus.

 

“Your Highness,” He greeted her with a brief bow. Reina pulled the door open and stepped aside to admit him. He was just the first; in all likelihood others would follow after the display in court. 

 

“Regis,” Clarus swept inside to join the king. “What are your thoughts?”

 

Reina shut the door and took her place beside her father once more. Once she might have felt out of place; she had, more or less, just inserted herself into a discussion that Clarus had only invited the king to. But more recently she had discarded that last piece of self-consciousness; anyone who came to speak to the king, now, also agreed to speak to her, by default and unless otherwise specified—not that anyone ever did specify. She was as much a part of the council as any of the others, now. More than some, even, if contribution alone was measured.

 

“I believe that the day Niflheim wants peace is the day I eat my crown—but that they are in an uncomfortably good position to make demands of us,” said the king gravely.

 

“This treaty may be pretense for something else,” Clarus said.

 

“It may well be. _What,_ though, I could not say.”

 

And so it went for an hour and a half. Others came and went. Some of the councillors were visibly agitated—some afraid, some eager. They each came with more or less the same purpose—to give their own thoughts and advise the king to take their side—save for Clarus, who had earnestly come to listen and discuss. He remained throughout. The time for debate and unsolicited advice was brought to a halt, however, when the attendant from outside announced Noctis’ arrival.

 

“The Crown Prince, Your Majesty,” the attendant managed to make himself heard over the other voices in the room, addressing the king with a bow before ducking out of Noct’s way.

 

Noctis glanced at the occupants of the room; his face was that sort of bored, bland expression he usually wore, but Reina caught the flash of confusion at finding the king’s study so full of people. Each of them, save Reina and their father, bowed to Noct and gave a polite greeting.

 

“So… What’s going on?” Noct asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking between his twin and father.

 

The councillors fixed their eyes on the king—none of them were going to answer, certainly. The king, instead of answering, touched Reina’s back lightly. Who needed words?

 

“Lords and ladies of the council, if you will excuse us,” Reina said in a clear voice that turned the question from a suggestion into a mandate. There were no objections from them—there never were, these days—they merely bowed to each of the royal family and left.

 

“Clarus, please see to it that we are not disturbed,” Reina added as Clarus joined the others in heading for the door.

 

“Of course, Your Highness,” he gave another bow, then disappeared through the doors, which shut behind him.

 

“ _ Now  _ will you tell me what’s going on?”

 

“We were graced by a visitor from Niflheim, late this morning. He came to deliver terms of a peace treaty between Lucis and the empire,” the king spoke at last, motioning that Noct should take the other armchair.

 

“Peace?” Noct’s eyes widened, but he dropped into the armchair all the same. “I thought they were bent on this war.”

 

“Indeed. The significant point—for you, at the very least—is that a condition of the treaty concerns your marriage. To Lady Lunafreya.”

 

Reina watched the surprise turn into shock on Noct’s face. “Wha—Luna?”

 

“The time is still early; we have not even discussed the proposed treaty in an official capacity, yet. I daresay there will be days of debate before a decision is reached. But as this affects you personally, I wished you to know of it, now. I cannot guarantee I will have the opportunity to do so, but I should like to take  _ your _ feelings into account.”

 

Silence ensued as Noctis tried to process what he was being told. From the look on his face, Reina suspected his brain was still stuck. 

 

“There is no need for you to answer immediately.” The king lifted one hand, perhaps hoping to calm some of the wilder thoughts stalling Noct’s mind. “I know you still feel fondly about Lunafreya, but marriage is considerably different than the periodic exchange of a journal.” 

 

Noct maintained his silence for a few more moments. When he did speak, it wasn’t especially enlightening: “Uh… right.” 

 

He still wore that wide-eyed look, staring into the distance without really focusing on either of them. The king looked up at Reina, concern on his features. As was so often the case between them, he didn’t speak and he didn’t need to; she knew he was worried about what was going through Noct’s head. When the twins had been children, no one ever had to guess what was on the Crown Prince’s mind. But that hadn’t been the case for twelve years, and it still unsettled people, sometimes—their father included.

 

Reina gave him a small smile and squeezed his shoulder. Noctis would be fine. He needed some time for everything to settle in, but he would be fine. Furthermore, she suspected he wouldn’t be adverse to the idea of marrying Luna—maybe it wasn’t the way he might have imagined it, if he ever imagined such a thing, but he  _ did  _ want to see her again. 

 

She smoothed her father’s hair down before pulling away from him.

 

“Come on, Noct. Let’s go get a snack; I’m starving.”

 

Food was the sort of thing that always brought Noct out of a mood. That, and they had many fond childhood memories bonding over snacks—usually snacks they weren’t supposed to have. 

 

Noctis looked up at her, at last. “Yeah…”

 

“Father…?”

 

“You two go ahead; I fear I would only encumber you. Take as long as you need.” The king remained in his chair; he hadn’t moved since they had entered the study nearly two hours ago. Reina couldn’t help but wonder if his knee was bothering him, but she held her tongue. Later she would ask; for now she could serve her father best by assuaging his worries about Noctis. 

 

They went. All the way to the kitchens they walked in silence. It wasn’t broken until well after they had loaded up on snacks from the kitchen and slipped away to their favorite quiet place.

 

The Crown City, in the middle of it, had a way of making anyone feel small. It was worth getting out of the Citadel now and then just to stand on the street and look up, but, then again, spending too much time in that was just as bad as spending too much time out of it. 

 

From twelfth floor balcony, everything in Insomnia looked small. It was closed off from the interior—there were narrow windows that, if anyone was  _ really  _ looking for them, the prince and princess could have been spotted through, but otherwise it was isolated. 

 

That was the spot they had always gone, before, when Noctis needed to get away. It was quiet, above the sound of the city, away from prying—if well-meaning—eyes. It felt like they were all alone in the world, up there.

 

“So… Luna…” It was Noct who spoke first; Reina had been waiting for it, knowing it would come out eventually once they were alone. “How does she… y’know… feel about this?”

 

Reina shook her head. “I don’t know. Even if the Chancellor  _ had  _ mentioned her feelings, I would be wary of trusting his words.”

 

Silence, again, for a few moments. Reina cracked open a can of soda and passed it to Noctis, then opened a second for herself. 

 

“You could write her. Is the notebook with you, now?”

 

“Yeah…” Noct said. “Yeah, I guess I could. Think there will be time?”

 

“I’m not sure, honestly; the council can debate these things for ages, sometimes. But there will be pressure on Father from all sides to make a decision quickly. Some of the councillors are already eager to accept.”

 

“Would it be so bad? If it ends the war…”

 

Reina shook her head. “I don’t like it an inch.”

 

They remained there, sharing silence and words, soda and sweets, and watched the sun turn the sky orange. 

 

“I should get back,” Reina sighed, stretching and pulling her feet up from over the edge.

 

“Yeah…” Noct said vaguely, then, as if just realizing what she had said, “Yeah. I’m amazed you stepped away for so long, at all.”

 

She made a face at him, “Don’t make me feel worse!”

 

“Relax. The kingdom isn’t burning down, yet. Insomnia looks intact from here. Father’s fine… probably.” He added the last with a teasing smirk. Reina considered hitting him.

 

“You just couldn’t stop yourself, could you?” She drawled, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She  _ had  _ intended just to check the time, but once it was in her hand she was drawn to call her father and make sure he  _ was  _ fine. She stared at the glowing face for a moment, considering.

 

Noct’s head appeared next to hers. “It’s only been like two hours. You’re really going to call him? Aren’t you going to see him  _ right now _ ?”

 

She glared at him, making up her mind and hitting her father’s number. “Yes,  _ I am _ . To both of those things. Doesn’t hurt to check.”

 

Besides, she reasoned, he might want her to do something on her way to find him; pick up dinner or… something. Regardless, she was calling.

 

Noctis smirked. “How’s he doing, by the way?”

 

“I don’t know, I’ve been away for  _ two hours _ ,” Reina said dryly, pressing her phone to her ear. 

 

_ One ring _ .

 

“I mean generally,” said Noct.

 

_ Two rings _ .

 

“Pretty good, most of the time,” Reina said.

 

_ Three rings _ .

 

“At least, he’s not getting—“

 

_ “Reina.”  _ The king’s voice on the line cut through everything else. Even if she  _ had  _ wanted to continue talking to Noct, she would have found her train of thought well and truly derailed.

 

“Father,” Reina beamed, “Sorry, it’s been  _ hours _ —I suppose we got carried away.”

 

_ “There is no need to apologize. How fares your brother?” _

 

“Noct’s fine.”

 

“Noct’s dying,” Noct said loudly.

 

_ “Thank you, my dear. Are you returning, now?”  _ She could hear the smile in his voice; there was little doubt that he had heard Noctis.

 

“Yes, on my way back—do you need anything?”

 

_ “Not as of yet. You shall find me much where you left me before Noct arrived.” _

 

“Uh oh,” said Reina. “Does that mean I need to rescue you from the councillors?”

 

_ “Perhaps.”  _ If she had to guess, she would have said he was smiling again.  _ “But the hour is early, yet. I will see you soon, my dear.” _

 

“Alright. I’ll be there in a few minutes, Father.”

 

“Satisfied?” Noctis was smirking again.

 

“Shut up.” She swiped at him. Noct ducked away, laughing.

 

They gathered up the remnants of their snacks and slipped back inside the Citadel.

 

“Are you staying for dinner?” Reina asked as she led the way down the hall.

 

“Nah. Supposed to be meeting Prompto for sushi. I’ll text you though.”

 

“Sure,” Reina deposited the empty soda cans and candy wrappers on a servant’s tray and moved toward the elevator. 

 

“Say ‘bye’ to Dad for me, will you? Tell him I’ll write Luna but that, I guess, if she’s okay with it I’m okay with it…”

 

Reina smiled. She guessed that Noctis was more than okay with it, but maybe he wasn’t ready to admit that, yet. “I will. See you soon!”

 

“Yeah, see ya.”

 

As expected, she found her father in the middle of an ever-changing knot of people. The councillors were the only people she knew who could somehow clamor for attention like school children and still hold onto their dignity. They never talked over each other, they never interrupted, they never raised their voices… and yet, somehow, when Reina watched them all posing arguments to the king, she couldn’t help but feel like they  _ were  _ doing all those things.

 

She joined the fray, taking up her place at the king’s side once more. He didn’t say anything, but he did grant her a look that was almost a smile when she set her hand on his shoulder. 

 

“....summon Captain Drautos, then. Have the reports from the horse’s mouth.”

 

“A waste of time, Aldebrand—I  _ do _ know the stair of affairs.”

 

“It seems eminently evident that you do not, Felice. Else you would not be so willing to maintain this war.”

 

Reina watched as the councillors carried on their painfully polite argument. She had only been back for a minute and it was already giving her a headache;  _ how  _ her father was maintaining his calm when they were all so maddening was beyond her. She sank down onto the arm of his chair, leaning closer so she could speak without being overheard.

 

“Have they been at this the whole time?”

 

“Very nearly,” the king admitted. 

 

“How’s your head?”

 

He glanced at her, giving the ghost of a smile at her insinuation. “Still attached.”

 

Not  _ quite  _ what she had asked, but it did tell her he had also—somehow—maintained hold of his good humor. All the same, if ‘attached’ was the best he could say about his head, she was betting her surmise was correct. 

 

Reina slipped off the arm of his chair and moved for the door once more. Outside she found a pair of attendants, along with a handful of crownsguard. She summoned one of the attendants with a look and sent her for a pitcher of water. It arrived after Reina had returned to the group within; the attendant brought it in, set it off to the side, on the king’s desk where she didn’t have to walk through any arguments or otherwise draw attention, and then slid quietly back out of the room.

 

“I say let them have the settlements outside! Naught but a few rubbish piles and uneducated countrymen—“

 

It was well enough that enough time spent with the king had cured Reina of her desire to hit everyone who said anything stupid; she might long since have broken Aldebrand’s nose. Her father dealt with the situation more gracefully. He interrupted without a word, cutting off anything else his councillor might have to say simply by lifting his hand.

 

“A different life is  _ not  _ a lesser one. I will hear no more on the subject. Reina—“

 

Reina had stepped away to pour a glass of water. She paused mid way through setting the pitcher back on his desk to look up and see what he needed. Except, the king paused as well without elaborating, his eyes fixing on the glass of water. She set the pitcher down and picked up the cup. A little smile flickered on her father’s face and suddenly she knew why; without further delay she delivered the not-yet-requested water.

 

“Thank you, my dear.”

 

Aldebrand, properly chastised, bowed out of the argument, which continued in spite of his absence. Reina sat back down on the arm of her father’s armchair.

 

“Did we tell Clarus that you were psychic?” He murmured, leaning close enough to be heard.

 

Reina fought a smile. There they were, in the middle of discussion over a treaty that would change everyone’s lives forever—perhaps irreparably, if the wrong choice was made—and he teased her about being psychic over a glass of water. It was important, though. If they couldn’t find the will to smile even as darkness encroached, then they would go mad. The day they couldn’t smile any longer was the day they lost.

 

“You’ll have to make sure he knows,” Reina whispered back. Really, the strangest part was that he was still surprised by it. She had only been doing it for years, now.

 

The discussion didn’t abate. At some point Clarus shooed the lot of them out, insisting that they would hold a proper meeting in the morning, but as soon as he was gone, too—likely hoping to give the king  _ some  _ peace—Felice was back to ‘mention just one last thing.’

 

It went on like that until well past dark. Clarus came back. He dragged half a dozen councillors out of the room, having just cleared it two hours before, and the other half of them entered to fill the space.

 

The king had stopped smiling with his daughter; that distant, tired look settled onto his face, instead. She remained beside him, attentive both to him and the ongoing debate. If Clarus didn’t come up with a more diplomatic plan, soon, she was simply going to banish the lot of them; her father could one take so much in one day, and she suspected they had already passed that point.

 

Reina smoothed her hand over his hair and he leaned ever so slightly toward her. She considered, for a moment. He had gotten much better at admitting when he was done in and telling her to end it; tonight he was holding on, perhaps because he felt it was important. It  _ was  _ important, of course, but so was his health and the discussion could continue tomorrow. For the moment, though, Reina refrained from dismissing them. Instead she slipped her hand beneath the king’s collar and traced her fingers down the back of his neck. She felt more than heard the breath he let out. At the edge of her vision, she could see him close his eyes without opening them again. That was something she could do, perhaps—though she wished it was more.

 

She persisted until he signalled his desire to speak to her, then she paused and leaned closer.

 

“If you do not desist, I shall be so relaxed that I fall out of my chair. Most undignified.”

 

She had to stifle a laugh at the thought of it. She  _ did  _ pause, but she didn’t draw her hand away.

 

“I am going to end this and take you upstairs,” she responded in an undertone; perhaps she should have asked permission, but instead she made it a statement.

 

He sighed. “Very well.”

 

They were debating the repercussions, both inside and outside Insomnia, of accepting the treaty, by that time. Though Reina had remained aloof through most of the day, taking in their viewpoints and filing information away, she rose now and commanded attention.

 

“That is quite enough. You have all taken more than enough of His Majesty’s time for one day. We will convene— _ officially _ —tomorrow as scheduled. Until then you will hold onto your thoughts and opinions.”

 

Having seen what happened when they did, no one was willing to try the princess’ patience by objecting. They went, this time properly dismissed without any remaining excuses. If anyone tried to return, they would face the wrath of the king’s guardian.

 

Clarus was the last to go, once more. He gave a weary sigh and shot them both an apologetic look.

 

“I might have been more assertive, myself, but I fear I do not have your daughter’s gift of knowing when, precisely, the right time is,” Clarus said.

 

“Indeed,” said the king, “Often she knows my mind before I do.”

 

Reina wrinkled her nose. “That’s just silly. Thank you, Clarus—we both appreciate your efforts.”

 

“But of course. Now I bid you both goodnight. I leave him in your capable hands, Reina.”

 

They didn’t discuss the proposed treaty or the encounter with the chancellor on their walk back up to the king’s rooms, but it hung over them like a black cloud. They had spent all day listening to talk of it and fighting to find something to smile about. Even when they did, the knowledge that everything might well change soon, for better or for worse, hung over them. For now, though, they took solace in each other’s company, passing through their evening ritual in silence, not because thoughts were left unsaid but because  _ no  _ thoughts were left unsaid.

 

Only once they were settled did the silence break.

 

Reina dropped onto her father’s bed beside him, stretching out with a sound of satisfaction. As much as she loved those dresses, it felt unbelievably good to escape the stiff boning of the bodice at the end of the day. 

 

Her father turned toward her, wrapping his arms around her and resting his head on her stomach—because that was what was there.

 

“I am afraid, Reina.”

 

“Father?” Reina’s heart skipped a beat. Those weren’t words she was accustomed to hearing her father say.

 

“I fear I shall have no choice but to accept, however unfavorable the terms.”

 

Her chest felt tight at his words. She feared the treaty, as well, but her own inclination was in the opposite direction.

 

“We don’t even know what they’re really after,” she reminded him quietly, smoothing one hand over his silvered hair before wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

 

“No. We do not. But this war—“ 

 

She could feel the tension run through his body like a wave and it knotted her stomach in empathy. Her hands moved over his shoulders in slow circles as she waited for him to continue. Eventually he did.

 

“I am too weak to win this war, Reina. You know this. Moreover, soon I will be too weak to maintain this stalemate. It is only a matter of time.” 

 

As much as she spent her time actively denying it, she knew both those things were true. For all she did for him—for all she tried to do more—the Wall was still draining him steadily. If she looked day-to-day it was almost possible to ignore; he was often in good spirits, he slept well, he had the strength to see to his own responsibilities and concerns…. 

 

But even in the past year she could see the changes. He was a little bit more wane, his cheeks a little more hollow. In the warm glow of the firelight she could pretend he wasn’t so pale, but outside, or when he stood next to Clarus, the ashen color of his skin was apparent. He had more lines in his face than when Reina turned twenty and, if she was being completely honest with herself, he simply didn’t have as many responsibilities, anymore. Many days she bid him farewell, leaving him to rest in the morning while she took over the duties that had once belonged to him.

 

Her eyes burned but she refused to let tears fall, refused to let him see. She hugged him a little tighter.

 

“We’ll think of something; it’s all just talk, right now. We’ll get through this together. Like we always do.”

  
The king gave no objection to the optimistic hope she held onto. She didn’t know, then, that he was already contemplating the possibility of  _ not  _ making it through to the other side. And not making it through on his own, very much without his faithful daughter.


	45. To Change All Lives

######  _ 18 April, 756: _

_ (One month before) _

 

The council  _ did  _ debate for days, much as Reina had anticipated. They were trying days. Some nights it seemed there would never be an agreement and so, as the fifth day drew toward a close, it became evident that the king would have to make the decision by decree. Everyone in the room knew that it had to be so; they each made a last, desperate attempt to sway the king to their own way of seeing.

 

“We are losing this war, your majesty. Lucis cannot rely on the Kingsglaive alone. Accepting the truce may be our best course of action.”

 

“You speak of matters beyond the New Wall. We have no need of a truce here so long as it stands. And if our position worsens, we still have the Old Wall.”

 

Reina bristled at the implication, though it was impossible to tell from her exterior. Kelmis should have known better—he  _ did  _ know better, she had thought. Surely he wasn’t blind. 

 

She sat forward, commanding attention and cutting off the rebuttal from across the table before it was fully formed. Through the past five days she had been reserved; her father knew her mind and her suspicions, so she felt no need to burden the already overzealous council with another voice. But this she could not allow. 

 

A few years ago her participation in these discussions was carefully overseen by her father—she had contributed only when he prompted her to—but no longer. Reina was free to speak her mind or hold her tongue by her own judgement. Now she spoke.

 

“Do not speak of such things as if they are trivialities.” Kelmis wilted beneath her gaze, though she never raised her voice. “The Wall is fueled by His Majesty’s life, and that supply is not infinite.”

 

Would that it were.

 

Her father’s hand, already resting on her knee, squeezed gently and held without immediately releasing her. It wasn’t one of their silent signs, but she knew what it meant, anyway. 

 

He was worried.

 

Reina set her hand atop his; they shared a fleeting glance before he sat forward and spoke for the first time that session. This was it—judging by the looks of rapt attention the others gave him, they knew it as well as Reina did. 

 

“The paths left to us are few. The New Wall draws its power from the throne. I am able to sustain it for some years yet, if the kingdom requires it, but the chancellor spoke one truth—if only one—we are old. And the Old Wall…” The king’s hand slipped out from beneath hers; when he gestured she saw the tremor. It hadn’t been there before—not that she had noticed, and she noticed most things concerning her father. 

 

His hand closed as if he had noticed the quiver in his fingers as well and meant to hide it. The fist didn’t shake.

 

“I cannot command the Old Wall with a weakened hand. Nor do I have the strength to muster an offensive to turn the tide on this war.”

 

That was what she knew; the point they kept returning to and there was no way around it. Did they barricaded themselves inside Insomnia, waiting as they were inevitably crushed when the king’s fading health failed? Or did they open their doors to the snake—let it inside on the feeble hope that it didn’t bite?

 

“Then let the choice be made, Your Majesty. What are we to protect?”

 

Reina had always liked Clarus, but at that moment, watching him set the weight of the world on her father’s shoulders, she despised him. There were no good choices. Yet it was the king’s burden to choose one and face the consequences. Hundreds of thousands of lives rode on a handful of words, and she knew he felt the weight of all those lives pressing down on him, today. If only she could have helped. She would have done anything.

 

His hand drifted back to her leg, closing—almost compulsively—on her knee as he stared down the length of the table. She held onto his hand, hiding his white-knuckled grip—his one tell—from view. Whatever he chose she would stand beside him, knowing every decision he made was in the best interest for the most people.

 

“We will accept the treaty.”

 

Later she wondered if those five words had been the cause of so much pain—the point at which her life changed, irreparably, forever. She would wonder if the other choice would have been better. It must have been better. Because she couldn’t imagine a fate worse than the one those five words caused.

 

But that day it had felt like the best choice. The one that gave them the best chance, however slim.

 

It wouldn’t be enough.

  
  


The king’s decision opened the doors on what would be weeks of work. In what remained of that day, they barely scratched the surface of organization. Their decision would have to be delivered to Niflheim, the people would have to be told, and from there only more followed.

 

When they reached the king’s quarters that night he was wane and exhausted, but he pushed her away gently, brushing aside her concern.

 

“Call your brother—tell Noctis—and do… whatever is necessary by him.”

 

She wanted to object; it was ten and Noctis could wait until morning. The official announcement wouldn’t be made for at least a day, anyway. But her father fixed her with that look—not commanding but  _ entreating _ .

 

“Please, Reina. Do as I ask.”

 

Her heart ached—why did he have to ask her to do the things that were most difficult for her?—but she complied: ever obedient.

 

“Of course, Father,” she mumbled. 

 

She had to force her feet to turn and take her from the room. Her shoes didn’t want to lift from the floor. After a halting start, she did manage to walk to the sitting room, leaving her father to settle himself.

 

She hung near the door as she retrieved her phone and hit her brother’s number. Silently, she prayed that he wouldn’t need her. Noctis would be fine; he was going to marry his childhood crush. Her father, on the other hand, tended not to fare well when she left for the night.

 

_ One ring _ .

 

Perhaps he wouldn’t answer. Then she could tell her father that he was asleep, that she would call him again in the morning.

 

_ Two rings _ .

 

But he never turned his phone off and even if he  _ was  _ asleep he wouldn’t stay that way. He would answer.

 

_ Three rings _ .

 

...wouldn’t he?

 

All at once she wanted him to— _ needed  _ him to. Because if he didn’t then something was wrong.

 

_ “Rei. What’s up?” _

 

Reina slumped back against the wall, her head hitting wood panelling. What had she been so afraid of, anyway? He always answered.

 

“Noct, hey. It’s about the treaty. I wanted to let you know that they decided to accept it.”

 

_ “...yeah?” _

 

“Yeah.”

 

_ “Oh.” _

 

He sounded neither disappointed nor elated. Mostly he just sounded stunned. 

 

“Do you… want me to come over?”

 

The line was quiet for long enough that she wondered if he had dropped his phone. Then:  _ “Nah. It’s fine. I’ll probably just… go to sleep. Maybe write her—she said she’d be happy to be with me.” _

 

Well, that was certainly something.

 

_ “Anyway, it’s late. You said you can’t go out at night with Dad… how’s he doing?” _

 

Reina sighed, glancing at the open door to her father’s bedroom and shifting away. “Tired—soul deep—and weighed down.” __

 

_ “Well then you really better stay. Do...something for him. Whatever you do.” _

 

“Everything I can. Always.”

 

_ “Yeah, I know. Goodnight, Rei. I’ll talk to you later.” _

 

“Goodnight, Noct.”

 

Reina lowered her phone and slipped back into her father’s room, feeling relieved that Noctis had not only told her that he didn’t need her to come over—but that he  _ did  _ want her to stay in the Citadel. Now she just had to convince her father that she wasn’t neglecting her twin.

 

The king hadn’t moved far from where she had left him. He had set his cane aside and removed his crown to the nightstand, but his fingers shook and he fumbled the buckles that held his cape in place. When she entered he dropped his hands back to the bed and the tremor vanished.

 

“How fares Noctis?”

 

“Surprised, but not adverse,” Reina supplied, still lingering in the doorway, uncertain if he would push her away for wanting to stay. “He says he’s gotten word from Luna and that he plans to write her back, tonight. Or tomorrow, if he falls asleep, first.”

 

She watched her father’s jaw tighten at her words.

 

“So you do not intend to go to him?”

 

“He doesn’t need me, Father,” Reina said, her tone more pleading and desperate than she would have liked. The rest of her statement remained unvoiced; the implication was clear.

 

_ But you do _ .

 

Still, he was silent for a time, giving no immediate indication that he would allow her to stay. His hands returned to the buckle at his side. Reina watched his fingers tremble, itching to help, until his hands closed over the strap and he looked up at her.

 

“You may as well help me, then,” he sighed, as if admitting that he  _ did  _ need her help was trying in itself.

 

It was all the invitation she needed. She entered the room fully and took a seat on the bed beside him, tucking one knee up so that she could face him. For the moment she didn’t bring up the subject of why he couldn’t muster the dexterity to undo a buckle—though the fact troubled her deeply, she kept it beneath the surface, instead drawing his hands away and doing it herself. 

 

When his cape was removed and set aside, she took his hands in hers.

 

“How long?” She didn’t specify what. He knew. He was half-heartedly trying to hide it, whether from her or from himself she wasn’t certain.

 

He lifted his hands and held them flat, palm down, in the air. His outstretched fingers quivered, as if the just the energy spent to maintain one position was too much for his muscles.

 

“On and off for… a week, perhaps. Infrequently before. Nothing you might have taken note of.” The look he gave her was almost preemptively reprimanding—he knew full well she would blame herself for having not noticed sooner. “This, however, has been near-constant all day… perhaps yesterday. What is it?”

 

Reina had dropped out a year and a half into her university education in medicine, and yet he still had faith that she knew. She might have been flattered if she hadn’t been so worried.

 

She took his hands and guided them to rest in his lap once more. At rest, there was no tremor. It was a positive sign.

 

“Some sort of movement disorder,” Reina sighed, running her hands over his. “Sometimes when people age, something happens in the part of the brain that controls movement—the specifics aren’t well known, but it’s not usually serious… and it should improve with rest.” 

 

She didn’t mention that usually it happened in people thirty years older than her father. He was too young for this. He was too young to require a cane and a knee brace without injury. He was too young to struggle to walk at the end of a long day. He was too young to battle aches and pains day in and day out, every day, every week, until she wanted to scream for the frustration of trying to chase them all away.

 

But the ring had done that to him. Thirty years of holding up the Wall had done that to him. Lucis had done that to him. The Gods had done that to him. 

 

And in that moment, she hated them all.

 

He turned his hands, grasping hers and squeezing briefly before releasing her. “Then I suppose I must rest.”

 

There was little else to say—though Reina would have insisted he rest even without the tremor—so she helped him out of his suit and saw him into bed. 

 

Once he was settled, she disappeared to change out of her dress and scrub the day’s makeup from her face. When she returned her father lay with his eyes closed and his breath steady and slow. Careful not to disturb him, she slipped under the blankets, herself. No sooner had she set her head on the pillow, however, than he turned toward her and threw one arm over her. In the dark she could just make out his eyes—open.

 

“I thought you had fallen asleep without me,” Reina teased.

 

“A small chance of that,” he replied, in a tone that was neither joking nor bitter—just a fact without opinions. 

 

Reina blinked at him. She hadn’t really considered until then, but she  _ had  _ all but moved into his room. When was the last time he  _ had  _ fallen asleep without her? She smoothed one hand over his hair. When was the last time  _ she  _ had fallen asleep without  _ him _ ? It went both ways.

 

She was silent for long enough that he spoke again without response. 

 

“Reina… would you—?“

 

He halted, she surmised, because she satisfied his request before it was fully formed, her hand moving from the back of his hair and down his neck. 

 

“Mmm… I do not deserve such a daughter. But I am glad for you all the more because of it.”

 

“Don’t be silly, Father,” Reina chided, but the dark hid the pleased flush on her features. “You deserve more than I could possibly give.”

 

“There is no such thing as more,” he mumbled, his words slowing as his hold on consciousness slipped.

 

Reina smiled and kissed his forehead. “Goodnight, Father.”

 

“Goodnight… Little Princess…” 

 

He was asleep very nearly before he could get the words out. Peace, finally. It would be some of their last.


	46. Unrest in Insomnia

######  _ 20 April, 756: _

_ (Twenty-seven days before) _

 

Not for the first time, Reina stood atop the stairs outside of the Citadel, facing a small army of cameras and reporters, and the crowd below. For nearly four years she had been the face of the royal family—indeed, of the monarchy itself—her father’s voice for the people. But today was the first time she had ever held an announcement of this magnitude. And never before had it been so difficult to appear content with it.

 

Perhaps it was the better of the choices, but neither choice was good. The people didn’t want to hear that their king had chosen the lesser of two evils, however, nor that the princess was skeptical that peace was really what the treaty would bring. No, the people would hear that the king had secured a future for Lucis: an end to the war… at the cost of everything outside Insomnia. 

 

For most Insomnians it was a small price to pay. They already regarded the outside as just that—something disconnected and not really a part of the kingdom at all. They despised the outsiders, especially those who had come to reside in the city, and many held some belief of superiority. 

 

But some people in the city had come from the towns beyond the Wall and still had friends and family—homes—in the land that would be given to Niflheim as a price for the peace.

 

Those were the people who had been promised their homes would be kept safe from the empire.

 

Today, Reina had to face them and tell them the king had broken his word. It wasn’t something she looked forward to, but there was no way around it. This was her place, her responsibility. When she had taken it on there had been no caveats: no ‘I’ll only deliver the good news.’ No, she would give the good and face the bad—and  _ she  _ would take these consequences in her father’s place. 

 

He understood. He might have told her she didn’t have to do it—that someone else could be sent instead—but he didn’t.

 

“Stand tall, my dear; hold onto your dignity, come what may,” he told her, before she had left him to get what rest he could while she addressed the public.

 

“I will, Father.”

 

He smiled ruefully. “My advice is needless, I know; you have more experience here than I do.”

 

She had smiled but demurred from admitting it. Whatever the truth, it seemed impossible that she could ever have more experience—or more wisdom—than her father. She would always welcome his words. She held them with her, now, as she drew a breath in the calm before the storm.

 

_ Stand tall… _

 

“Lucians.” Reina’s voice seemed to echo in her own ears, strangely loud and projected through speakers so all could hear. “Insomnians.”

 

_ …come what may…  _

 

“One week ago an emissary of Niflheim stood in Lucis to offer terms of peace—an end to our endless war. In return, the empire would gain control of all territories beyond the Wall. Today I stand before you to bring the king’s decision. It was not made lightly—the considerations were many. But in the end, the best path for us… is the one toward peace.

 

“Plans are underway to draft and sign a formal treaty with the empire. The cost is high; some of us will feel it more keenly than others, and to all those who have homes—families and friends—beyond the Wall, I say, on behalf of myself and King Regis, that our hearts are broken for you—heavy with the weight of this decision. Your homes are our homes, a part of Lucis no less than the rest. Outside the Wall, those are our people, Lucian as true as any Insomnian. But if we can save more Lucian lives—both inside and beyond the Wall—then this is the way it must be. To those outside Insomnia: you will  _ always  _ be Lucian; you will always hold a place in our kingdom—in our hearts.

 

“Many have fought and died in defense of our lands. Some have done so in return for Insomnian help sent to their homes, in return for a promise to protect their families. We stand by this choice, not in defiance of that promise, but in deference to it. This is the best way we know how to protect our people. And lives—Lucian lives—must always come first in this kingdom.”

 

There might have been murmurs in the crowd before, but Reina hadn’t noted—she was too focused, drawing to mind the words she had written and memorized for this purpose. At the conclusion, however, it was more than a murmur.

 

It was a cheer, rising up—joyous voices and applause from the crowd gathered beyond the steps.

 

If she hadn’t still been numb with nerves and adrenaline, she might have felt shock at that. As it was, she merely stood before them with her placid public face—her expression a carefully painted mix of commiseration and determination.

 

Among those gathered near her, questions rose nearly at once—though the reporters were notably more well-behaved with the princess than they might have been with a member of the staff. They waited for their chance to speak, rather than throwing their questions at her in vain hopes that one might be answered.  

 

“Your Highness, is it true that Prince Noctis will marry the Oracle?”

 

“That is correct; under the treaty, Lucis and Niflheim will be united by a marriage between the Crown Prince and Princess Lunafreya of Tenebrae.”

 

“Is it true that the king is too weak to continue to maintain the Wall?”

 

Reina was too well-controlled to flinch at the accusation—though any remark nearly as pointed made during a council meeting would have drawn her ire. Now there were a dozen cameras pointed at her, hundreds of thousands of eyes watching, even more ears listening across Lucis and beyond. Every move she made, every word she spoke, was calculated and curated.

 

“The Wall stands, still, as solid as ever. His Majesty would never compromise the safety of his people.”

 

It was a political non-answer, but that was the sort of thing one did. The truth was that if this peace failed, there were only so many more years that her father could put into the Wall… before it drained him completely dry.

 

######  _ 23 April, 756: _

_ (Twenty-four days before) _

 

Three days had passed since the public announcement of the treaty with Niflheim; preparations continued in a flurry of activity that was nearly dizzying. The king agreed that letting the diplomatic attache into Insomnia was dangerous. To that end he made plans for the wedding to be hosted in Altissia the following month where, if nothing else, at least the heir to the throne would be safe. It meant sneaking behind the empire’s back to get Luna to Altissia before the empire collected her, but it was the best they could do. The safest they could be.

 

Each day ended in exhaustion, those weeks before the signing. She watched the strain on her father, wishing she could do more to relieve it, but times were trying for her, as well. She couldn’t be in two places at once, but she did her best; she scheduled her other meetings—anything not to do with the treaty—around the others so she could be present for her father as he waded through the endless preparations. When that wasn’t enough, she saw him back to his rooms, while she carried on non-essential discussions—everything that could be done without him, she did. Everything else was put on hold: no more training, no more free time, no more breathing space. She hadn’t even spoken to Noctis beyond the occasional text in days.

 

At that pace she might have run herself into the ground in a month or two—but it didn’t have to last that long. She only needed to survive until May, and then… and then everything would change, and she had no idea, as of yet, what that would mean for her life. But she could last a few more weeks. She  _ had to  _ last a few more weeks. So she tucked it all away, covered the dark circles with more makeup, and held her back straight and her head high. Whatever happened, she had no intention of letting her father see. It would only worry him and she didn’t want that. She had no regrets.

 

All of it was worth it.

 

Every time he managed a smile, every chance he had to take a breath and sit down instead of working, every moment of peace he had away from the relentless squall of the council was worth ten times what she paid for it. If she had seen another opportunity to help—to take more of his strain on her own shoulders—she would have taken it in a heartbeat.

 

And she did. Whenever trouble arose she leapt to take it.

 

So far it seemed to be working. 

 

Reina moved with the king’s entourage down the hall, caught behind but taking the chance to catch her breath and reorient herself. It was one thing after another, but her father, at least, was moving with ease and purpose. His pace was slower that it would have been a few years ago, certainly, but that was inevitable. What was important was that, for his recent average, he was doing well.

 

Well enough to be annoyed with his councillors.

 

“It is said that sentiment among the people is favorable, Your Majesty. Most all will welcome this peace.” Perhaps Hamon had the intention of bringing some sort of good cheer to the recently somber king with good tidings. Reina could have saved him the trouble if he had bothered to ask; all he earned in return was a cutting remark and a fleeting glance.

 

“If you, yourself, have not heard their voices, how can you claim to know their hearts?”

 

It wasn’t the sort of question that one answered. It was the sort of question that sent one slinking back into the shadows to contemplate one’s life decisions. That was just what Hamon did, looking mortified.

 

“Reina—“ Her father’s voice, a sharp summons, broke Reina from her thoughts. She picked up her pace, fixing her face back in place, and wove through the knot of councillors to take her father’s side and his outstretched arm.

 

“These people are yours as much as—even more than—mine. Go to them. Be my ears among them; show the face they have need of.”

 

Her response was immediate, without hesitation: “Of course, Father.”

 

They both already had a reasonable idea of what she would find in the city, but it weighed on him, still. He had made his choice in their best interest and yet he worried that it wouldn’t be enough. In the end, perhaps it didn’t matter what they thought if nothing could be changed, but if he wished to hear their minds then she would do it.

 

“Take with you a guard.”

 

“I will bring Fulke—“

 

“No. Take one of the Glaive.”

 

She looked at him, surprised, and he met her gaze for just a moment. He didn’t offer a reason, but she guessed at it, all the same:  _ just in case _ .

 

“As you wish, Father.”

 

The king, entourage and all, paused in the hall as they reached an intersection. He took her hand, pressing it with his and searched her face for just a moment. “Go, then. Return to me with tidings, my child.”

 

“Yes, Father, I will.” Reina squeezed his hand and leaned up to give him a kiss on the cheek. As much as she hated leaving him in general, she didn’t hesitate as she turned and walked away. This was important for him. It was important for her.

 

She sent word to Drautos—much as she hated doing so—and took a detour to her room to get changed before heading to his office. The man made her skin crawl for no discernable reason. It was something about his eyes. Like they never smiled when his face did. Or maybe it was his face that was wrong. Disconnected. He had always seemed that way to her; ever since she was a child she had been unsettled by the captain of the Kingsglaive. No one else seemed to see it; she had long since written it off as her own imagination, but it didn’t make her like him.

 

The headquarters of the Kingsglaive were just off the Citadel—or the tower, at least—but still attached. She could reached Drautos’ office from the ground floor without ever going outside, if she didn’t mind the walk. Just then she  _ did  _ mind the walk. She did it anyway.

 

The Kingsglaive was, primarily, all in Insomnia for the time. With the ceasefire between Lucis and Niflheim, deployments were halted indefinitely. Precisely what would happen to Lucis’ elite army after the treaty was signed was still undecided. For now, they trained or idled, and they served much as the Crownsguard. The ones who resided in the headquarters, that day, gave her dark looks as she passed.

 

That was more or less what she expected; the Kingsglaive was composed almost entirely of people from outside the Wall—some of them refugees, fighting for the homes they had been forced to leave behind. And three days ago they had heard her announce that their homes were going to be handed over to the Empire, in spite of everything they had sacrificed.

 

She would have hated her, too.

 

It just made her father’s request that she bring one of them as a bodyguard more puzzling. Drautos, when she reached him, seemed to think the same.

 

“I’m not saying they won’t do their duty, Your Highness—but many of them are on edge since that announcement.” He stood behind his desk, the light from the window hitting his back.

 

“I understand, Captain; but His Majesty was firm upon this point and so I must be, as well. Is there one of the Glaive that you would recommend as impartial? I will trust your judgement.” 

 

_ I’ll trust nothing about you _ , Reina thought, but kept her poisonous thoughts tucked away beneath her calm exterior.

 

He only barely had a day’s stubble, but he rubbed his chin as if he had a beard, anyway. He half-turned, thoughtful, and as the light fell across half of his face she had the fleeting impression that there was something disturbingly wrong with the eye that caught the light.

 

“Mm… Yes. I’ll bring him in.” Drautos moved out of the sun and it vanished. There was nothing strange with either of his eyes—nothing more than usual, in any case. 

 

Reina stepped aside as he left her alone in his office. She shivered and ran her hands over her arms, unnerved. What was it that had looked like? Surely it was just her imagination again, but for a moment she had thought…  

 

When he returned a few minutes later, he was followed by Nyx Ulric. He was the same Glaive who had escorted her in the city in the past—including her very last nighttime excursion, a year and a half before. She knew him to be devoted and loyal, which was something of a relief; she had half expected Drautos to choose someone as questionable as himself. 

 

“Nyx Ulric, you are to accompany the princess into the city and ensure that she returns safely. Beyond that, you take your orders from her, is that clear?”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“Thank you, Captain, that will suffice,” Reina said, giving a curt not to Drautos before turning back to Nyx. She put disturbed thoughts of the captain from her mind, for the moment. “Let us not waste time, then.”

 

The city was waiting.

  
  


As a general rule, the lower city wasn’t a place the king’s daughter frequented. Perhaps she should have. It reminded her how much people were struggling, how much work there still was for her to do. 

 

“You sure you want to do this, Princess?”

 

Nyx stopped her car off the street; she didn’t know anything in this part of Insomnia, so she deferred to his knowledge—though it was disheartening to realize that he  _ did  _ know, because this was the part of Insomnia he called home. It wasn’t right. He put his life on the line to protect all of Lucis and he got so little in return for it. She would have been surprised if he even had the thanks of the Insomnians.

 

“I must,” Reina said. 

 

He gave her one last appraising look in the mirror before he got out of the car, opening the door for her and helping her out. They walked and Reina was keenly aware of how conspicuous she was. Insomnia she had always painted as grey in her mind—grey stones buildings and streets and skies, punctuated with bright lights and gleaming glass—but this part was brown. Buildings cobbled together, as if from the leftovers, and left in a permanent state of disrepair. There were still lights and, in some places, a determined attempt at cheer, but mostly they just made the city look more dingy. Where the pavement was cracked and coming apart, tufts of tall grass grew; little gardens that would have been neatly manicured a few miles away were unkempt and out of order, here.

 

One thing was much the same, though: eyes followed where Reina moved.

 

Some watched with a sort of detached curiosity, wondering what would bring the princess to this corner of the Crown City. Others showed open hostility.

 

Her eyes skimmed the streets; her heart ached for the disrepair, the squalor that these people lived in. It was clear they wasn’t trying hard enough, if this still existed in the Crown City. 

 

Movement near an overgrown patch of wilted greenery caught her eye. A smooth black body covered in slippery scales creeped along the edge where pavement met earth. Reina halted, more out of surprise than fear. Snakes, in her mind, were a creature that existed outside in deserts and forests, but were only seen within the Wall in the confines of a terrarium. And yet, there it was: a snake in Insomnia.

 

“Princess?” Nyx stopped when she did, but didn’t immediately register why she had done so.

 

The reptile turned sharp yellow eyes on her and Reina’s breath caught in her throat. That eye, with the scale-like texture and the slit-shaped pupil: it was just like—

 

“It’s not going to bite you.” Nyx had discerned the cause of her halted progress, but he misattributed the fear on her face to the snake itself.

 

“Yes, I know,” Reina said. “I just thought I saw…”

 

Earlier, in Drautos’ office, she had thought there was something wrong with his eye when it caught the light, but she couldn’t place just what it looked like to her. Just then, staring at that snake, though, it had come back to her. His eye had been like that. A snake in Insomnia.

 

“Nevermind,” Reina said, tearing her eyes away as the snake disappeared back into the bushes. 

 

Nyx didn’t ask any questions or make any further comment when she continued walking. He just fell into place beside her until their next pause.

 

“Come to take stock,  _ Your Highness _ ?” The voice that called out belonged to a man hanging at the mouth of an alley. He was lean and ragged, his clothes of poor quality and poor health. Even if they had once been expensive they would have been in tatters, but since they had been cheap the effect was that much worse.

 

“Looking to see what else you can part with when the empire comes? Good on you. Cut your losses, that’s what I always say. Might as well hand over everything you don’t want to Niflheim—that way you don’t have to deal with us Outlanders crowding up your precious streets.”

 

“Cool it, Dax—she’s just a kid. Just a figurehead. It’s the king you should be pissed at.” The second speaker was a woman who sat a few yards down, lounging among a pile of boxes. 

 

The man named Dax spat on the street. “Yeah, sure. They don’t let you make the choices, do they, Sweetheart?”

 

It was decidedly not a name that most people were bold enough to apply to the princess. Reina didn’t react to it, though; he meant it to be condescending, but that was what she expected. The people here felt like outsiders in their own city—it was only reasonable that they would direct it to her. She was the face of the royal family; that was her place with all the good and bad that came with it.

 

“I am a voice in the council, but not the final one, no. What I  _ am  _ is here to bear your voices back to His Majesty.”

 

“Oh yeah? So we can be  _ heard _ by King Regis?  _ King _ ,” Dax scoffed. “You can tell  _ His Majesty _ that he’s not our king, down here. Sell out our homes to the empire for his own people, and you expect to make it right? You wanna make it right then you take out the empire—and get our  _ damn  _ homes back, like he fucking promised.”

 

“ _ Not our king! _ ”

 

Reina hadn’t noticed the crowd they had attracted until one of them shouted. She had been so focused on hearing that she hadn’t bothered to look around. Now there were a few dozen lining the streets, pausing in their usual walk, and more still standing in windows and doorways.

 

“Down with Regis!”

 

“Take your treaty and shove it—!”

 

“There you have it, Princess.” The man named Dax raised his voice to be heard over the others. Angry voices rumbled all around, now— the more they shouted, the larger the crowd grew. “You want to hear our voices? Here they are! Your king is throwing away our homes and futures. You think there’ll be peace? We’ll make  _ sure  _ there isn’t.”

 

“We need to leave.” Nyx’s voice was in her ear; he stood behind her, blocking off as much of her from view as was possible when they were surrounded by angry refugees, but he didn’t look at her. He kept his eyes on the crowd.

 

As much as she wanted to make it right, she knew he was correct. She couldn’t do anything, here—she had found more or less what she had expected, discontent and distrust. But there was more hostility than she had hoped. More hatred for her father. She gave Nyx a nod.

 

“His Majesty must choose in the best interest for the most—your homes are kept safer by this treaty, as well, regardless of who—“ Her defense of her father’s decision was cut short by a piece of stone the size of her fist. She hardly had time to flinch when she saw it: it struck her forehead with sharp, radiating pain, blinding her for an instant.

 

When she could see again, there was a shimmering barrier around the two of them.

 

“Your Highness—are you alright?”

 

Nyx stood over her, one hand outstretched as he maintained the shield. Her father’s magic cast by his Glaive—perhaps she shouldn’t have been so comforted by that, given that they were still standing in the middle of what was rapidly becoming an angry mob, but she did. She felt safe, calm in spite of everything. 

 

She touched her forehead, hissing in pain; her fingers came away slick with blood. 

 

“I’ll live.”

 

He looked like he wasn’t sure about that, for a moment, but the concern dropped back into that professionally blank neutral in another moment. His eyes turned back outward as his free hand moved for the curved blade at his side.

 

“I can get us to the car, but…”

 

“No—don’t hurt anyone. Not even for haste.” Angry people were dangerous—but she regarded it as her own shortcoming that they were angry in the first place. She should have done better by them.

 

“Then I have to call backup.”

 

“Do it.”

  
  


It took longer than Regis might have liked to be free of his councillors. Clarus was a help in that regard; serving as his voice when he was too exasperated to continue answering inane questions about his decisions. This was no time to second guess judgements. There was much work to be done before the signing.

 

In his haste, perhaps he had made a misstep. 

 

The ring tone was a regular hum in his ear as he waited, counting without meaning to. Reina always answered her phone. She would have answered her phone if she was asleep, if she was in the middle of a conversation, or if she was sitting on council. Indeed, she was so adamant about never missing a call from him that he was certain she would even have answered if she had been with a young man—though such a thing had never occurred, because she never had one.

 

But now she didn’t answer.

 

He called again.

 

The only witnesses to his fingers steadily drumming on the top of his desk were Clarus, who stood across the desk, watching him, and Cor, who stood by the window, pretending not to watch.

 

_ One…  _

 

_ Two…  _

 

_ Three…  _

 

_ Four…  _

 

Voicemail.

 

Regis shut his eyes and set his phone face down on the desk. He had already sent for Drautos. Now it was just a matter of waiting. He had never been so impatient in his life.

 

“Your Majesty.”

 

His eyes opened to the sound of the door. 

 

The attendant, holding the door, made a valiant effort to announce the visitor: “Captain Drautos—“

 

But the captain didn’t wait before pushing into the room. “Your Majesty—Nyx has just requested backup in the lower city.”

 

Regis was on his feet, ignoring the protest that his right knee shouted. “My daughter—“ 

 

“It seems the princess has been injured, but Nyx has them secure, now. He just can’t get back out without hurting anyone, Your Majesty.”

 

His hands tightened on the edge of his desk until his knuckles turned white. How could he have been so hasty, so  _ foolish _ ?

 

“Cor—“

 

“I will go myself, Your Majesty.”

 

Regis gave a curt not and Cor was off; Drautos followed in his wake to give support and whatever information was needed for Reina’s retrieval. Once they were gone, the king sat heavily in his chair one more, dropping his head into his hands and giving a low groan.

 

“What went through my mind, Clarus? What possessed me? It seems age has caught up with my mind, at last.”

 

He heard his friend move, but didn’t look up until he felt Clarus’ hand on his shoulder.

 

“They will bring her back safely, Regis.”

 

Regis’ expression hardened, his mouth tightening. “They had better. I will never forgive myself.”

  
  


It was a sight Reina had never expected to experience firsthand. Front row seats for an angry mob before it was cleaved in half by three dozen Crownsguard, lead by The Immortal. And if being whisked away by a small army wasn’t enough, there was the way Cor stuck to her—it wasn’t that she had never seen him in action, and he was  _ always  _ serious, but this was something more. He was just as sharp, but less stony—less detached. Like he he had actually been worried about her.

 

Then there was the Citadel itself, alight with activity as the Crownsguard poured up the steps with Reina in their midst and Cor at her side, a shield against the outside. If there were reporters—and there usually were, even if nothing was happening—she already knew all they would have a picture of was Cor’s back. No sight of the princess with dried blood down the side of her face, caking her hair into a red-brown mess.

 

The whole thing, at the root, was more than a little bit humiliating. She had made a foolish decision and thrown so much into chaos. They  _ should  _ have just left her to sort out the mess on her own. All these people had more important things to deal with, right now, and she  _ should  _ have been able to get out of anything she had gotten into. Except she couldn’t; she didn’t even have the magic that the Kingsglaive wielded and she had made an utter fool of herself.

 

Atop the stairs stood the king, waiting. Guilt drenched her. Had he been worried? Of course he had—and it had been entirely her fault. If she hadn’t been so foolhardy, if she had been more  _ careful _ …. Now he had to see her like this. If only there had been time for her to get cleaned up; she probably looked like a war zone. And that wasn’t something he needed to deal with.

 

The king took Cor’s place as soon as they reached him, sweeping her inside with one arm around her shoulders. His expression was tight and focused, but she knew underneath there was fear. What must her face have looked like? It had stopped hurting, mostly—but she could feel her skin stiff with dried blood, and the blouse she wore was positively ruined.

 

“Father, it’s alright—I’m fine. It was just a graze. I’ll get cleaned up, and, if you want to go back to your room—“

 

He didn’t say anything, but the look he gave her silenced her. She had grown so accustomed to looking after him, recently, to being the one who fussed rather than was fussed over, that she had forgotten what the opposite felt like. In fact, she could hardly remember when the last time their roles had been reversed was. A year ago? Two?

 

Demurred, but no less guilty, Reina held her tongue. He was worried about her and she wasn’t going to brush his concern aside, as much as she wanted to assure him she was fine.

 

Besides, it wasn’t so bad, being shielded by her father, walking in the safety of his arms and—for once—allowing  _ herself  _ to lean on  _ him _ .

 

The king banished all those who made to follow them—though Cor and Clarus lingered on right until they entered the king’s rooms. This time it was the father who sat his daughter on the bed and disappeared for a few moments, returning with a damp cloth and a jar from the bathroom. 

 

They were both silent while he worked, Reina making no objection as he cleaned blood from her face—though she had a struggle not to flinch when the washcloth touched the bruised and broken skin at the corner of her forehead. She must have failed, because he hesitated, his expression shifting from stern focus to worry.

 

“I ought never have sent you there,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret.

 

“Father….” She hated herself for even appreciating the concern. He had so much weight on his shoulders, right now, so much stress—he didn’t need the added worry for his daughter. She should have been the one thing that never caused him trouble.

 

“The fault was mine, not yours,” she said.

 

He shook his head. “You cannot convince me of that.”

 

She believed him; she didn’t try.

 

When he had cleared away most of the blood from her face, he picked up the jar of cream. Reina caught his hands, taking it from him. He could have enchanted it himself—it wasn’t as if she was the only one who had that ability in their family—but she wasn’t about to let him. His strength was too precious for that.

 

He gave her a long-suffering look as she pressed the jar between her palms and imbued it with her own magic, sparing his. He didn’t stop her, but he took it back when she was done, still wearing that look.

 

“Reina…” He unscrewed the top and touched his fingers to the cream, dabbing it gingerly across her forehead. “Allow me to be your father, for once.”

 

“You always have been.”

 

“Have I?” He considered her stonily. “Sometimes I wonder.”

 

“You have always been the  _ best  _ father; I would never want anything different.”

  
“ _ That  _ I do not wonder at,” he said. “I know it to be false.”


	47. Stand by Him

######  _ 5 May, 756: _

_ (Twelve days before) _

 

Two more weeks passed at the same breakneck pace. Reina would have liked to say that the contingency plans and the caution that went into every day’s meetings put her mind at ease. But there was a persistent feeling of dread that she couldn’t shake. Anything could happen when they let the imperials into Insomnia. She put it down to her own nerves: her nights had been conspicuously absent of dreams for the future, which she hoped meant there was nothing to fear. After all, her peculiar brand of magic had always warned her of danger in the past.

 

They made plans for Noctis and Luna’s wedding in Altissia—everything was arranged with the First Secretary and all that remained was to send Noct off and see Luna safely there. The day for his departure was tentatively set in a week, though there was still no official decision on when the treaty would be signed. Her father was buying time with his stalling, Reina suspected. Better that the process be delayed until the last possible moment, so that they might gather more information. Not that it made things easier; she hated the uncertainty. There was nothing she could do, though. She waited.

 

It was strange to think that Noctis would be married, soon—stranger, still, to know she wouldn’t witness it. Perhaps in a far off part of her mind, Reina had always expected him to have some sort of grand royal wedding, but in those flights of fancy she always imagined herself there, standing at his side as she always was. And their father. But now neither of them would be with him. Nothing was turning out quite like it was supposed to.

 

The alternative, she discovered, was far worse.

 

“Reina…”

 

Her father summoned and she perched on the edge of his bed, running a comb through her damp hair.

 

“Yes, Father?”

 

He considered her for a moment, his expression serious. It was a look that made her insides squirm: that same look he wore when he wanted to be unreadable.

 

It meant bad news.

 

“I would like you to go with your brother to Altissia.”

 

The comb froze halfway down the length of her hair. Her expression—stunned, hurt, and terrified all at once—looked as if he had struck her. She  _ felt  _ as if he had. Her mouth was so dry she couldn’t speak—but even if it hadn’t been, her brain had stalled and stuck. There weren’t any words. There was just cold fear, blacker than nights beyond the Wall, filling up her mind and body.

 

“Reina.” The king sat forward and took her hands in his. He pulled the comb from her unresisting fingers and set it aside. “Heed me, Reina; Noctis needs you, and you should be with him.”

 

Reina’s brain slowly thawed. She kicked it back into gear. He was sending her away—he was trying to send her away and if she didn’t mount an argument immediately then that would be the end.

 

“My place is with you.” It came out sounding more pathetic and less self-assured than she would have liked.

 

“No, my dear. Your destiny extends far beyond my time here.”

 

She wanted to be able to meet his gaze squarely and tell him all of the reasons why she should stay. She could help—it would be important to have more eyes in Insomnia when the snakes were inside—and she could observe and  _ learn _ and she would be by his side in case things went badly. She was good for the people and for the council, and she handled herself well. And he  _ needed  _ her.

 

Didn’t he?

 

All that came, however, were tears and objections that were far from organized.

 

“Please don’t send me away, Father,” Reina whispered because anything louder would crack. His face blurred before her as she fought the tears. “I can make myself useful—I can do anything you need and I promise I won’t make a mess of things.”

 

Like she had in the lower city.

 

“Oh,  _ Reina _ , my dearest daughter.” His expression softened; he pulled her closer and held her cradled against his chest. She buried her face against the front of his shirt. What little control she had on her emotions slipped; the tears fell.

 

“Of  _ course  _ you would be useful to me, here. You have never once failed me. It is through no fault of yours that I wish you to go. Noctis has need of his sister—you must go with him.”

 

Reina shook her head against his chest. “Ignis is going with him… and Gladio and Prompto. He doesn’t need me.”

 

“None of them are that one person he is closest to. You know it to be true: you know his mind as if it were your own. No other can claim that. The prince  _ needs  _ you.”

 

She pulled back to look up at him, tears still dotting her eyelashes and streaking her cheeks. “And the king?”

 

He cupped her face in his hands, brushing tears from her cheeks. “The king always has need of his brilliant, strong, resourceful,  _ beautiful _ daughter. But just this once he will share.”

 

“I don’t want to go,” Reina murmured. Tears replaced the ones he had brushed away, but her father dried those as well. 

 

“I know, my dear.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead; his beard was scratchy against her skin, but that was just the same as she always remembered and she wouldn’t have had it any other way. “But this is what I need of you. Go with Noctis.”

 

If she had been a rebellious child she would have argued, she would have insisted on staying, or have stayed without his permission, no matter what he said. But she wasn’t, and a lifetime of obedience wasn’t an easy habit to break.

 

She dropped her gaze. “Yes, Father.”

 

They were the two words she would grow to regret most in the weeks to come.

 

Reina didn’t sleep that night. Not really. She curled up beside her father until she heard his breathing fall into the steady pattern of sleep; then she sat up, restless and discontent, watching over him as if to make up for the time they would spend apart. As it would turn out, she wouldn’t have been able to make up for it even if she hadn’t shut her eyes at all in the next week.


	48. The Last Time

######  _ 12 May, 756: _

_ (Five days before) _

 

One more day before Reina departed for Altissia with Noctis and his crew. She wasn’t ready—not in any sense of the word—but she also couldn’t see any way around it. She ought to have been packing. Her father had hinted as much, but he was too tired to enforce anything. They had been up since dawn after another late night before; it seemed every day was like that, now, but this one was just one step worse. The imperials would arrive soon after the prince’s departure and then… then they would see. For now she kept to her father’s side. She wasn’t about to leave while he was so weary—not unless he insisted, himself.

 

Around the council table there was debate about the treaty—when it would be signed, who would be present, what precautions would be taken. The Crownsguard was being reassigned to the city, serving the king by serving the people; the Kingsglaive, temporarily out of other work, was to guard the castle.

 

It  _ seemed  _ the best they could do.

 

The king asked for the time and had it: just past eleven in the morning. They had been there for over six hours with nary a break. Talk resumed and he signalled Reina that he wished to speak to her.

 

“I was meant to speak with Noctis, today. Go to him with my apologies.” 

 

She didn’t want to leave, but she also didn’t want to burden her already overburdened father with an argument. So she went. 

 

Outside the council room was a quiet intermediary chamber; outside  _ that  _ it opened very nearly to the entrance hall. And in the entrance hall was the very person she had been sent to find.

 

“How’s my dad doing?”

 

“Exhaustion aside, he seems to be doing just fine.”

 

Noctis stood in the hall, conversing with the king’s attendant. Predictably, Ignis was there, as well. Less expected: so was Iris.

 

“Rei!” Noct caught sight of her, hearing only half of the response to his question.

 

“Hello, Noct.”

 

“Your Highness.” Ignis bowed, as did his uncle. After a beat, Iris curtsied.

 

“So, Dad’s still busy?”

 

“Very much so,” Reina sighed. “We’ve been at it since five, as near as I can recall. There’s no end in sight, Noct.”

 

“Oh…” 

 

She hadn’t said it and neither had he, but the look on Noct’s face said he knew what that meant. Crestfallen; like how they both always looked when their father failed to show up for dinner those nights when they were little.

 

“He desperately wanted to meet with you, today, but right now I don’t see how it’s possible. There’s simply not enough time…” 

 

“Yeah…”

 

Reina watched his face for a moment. Ignis was silent, along with the others, but she knew they were listening, as well—watching. After a moment she stepped forward and hugged her brother. He hugged her back.

 

“Do you want me to come help you pack?” She asked, still standing on her toes to reach around his shoulders.

 

“Nah, it’s alright. I know you want to get back and Dad probably needs you more—did you pack, yet?”

 

They broke apart and Reina gave him a bitter smile. “No time.”

 

“Yeah, figures. I’ll just make Ignis pack a bag for you.”

 

Ignis sighed. Reina gave him a small smile.

 

“I’ll manage,” she said. 

 

“How’s Dad?” Noctis asked, though he had just asked the same question of Mr Scientia.

 

It was Reina’s turn to sigh. What was she going to tell him? That the strain was wearing holes straight through him? That she wasn’t sure how he was going to make it through the rest of the day, let alone the next one and the one after that? That she was terrified of what was going to happen while she was away?

 

“Mm. Bad question. Forget I asked,” Noctis said. “Can he still walk?”

 

That one she could answer. “Yes.”

 

His knee was always troubling him, these days, but she had made time for it that morning and the night before. If they had a moment to breathe during the day, she would do so again.

 

“And how are you faring, Your Highness?” Ignis inquired, guessing rightly that Noct wasn’t going to.

 

“Oh. I’ll be fine.” She would be, at least, once they got back to Insomnia after the wedding.

 

“Yeah. You always are, right?” Noct made a motion as if he intended to mess up her hair and then thought better of it. That was just as well, considering she needed to return to the council.

 

“Yeah,” Reina said, giving a little smile that she didn’t mean. 

 

That was what she was, wasn’t it? Always alright. Making it through, no matter what.

  
  


At last, the day came to a close. Regis might have said it took far too long—an eighteen hour work day with scant pauses  _ should  _ have been too long. But every time he caught himself wishing it would finish, he remembered what came after and he clung to the time left with what little strength remained in him.

 

Tomorrow he would send his children on their way. This was his last day with them and it had been wasted in a meeting. The only consolation was that at least he had spent it with his daughter. Their last day in court and council together. There should have been so many more….

 

In one final effort to give them some help in the outside world, he had called Cid—they would see him tomorrow and he would look after them. Cid would have to, because Regis wouldn’t have that chance, anymore. He hadn’t told Cid the truth—not the whole truth. Perhaps he knew or guessed. He certainly would, in a few days. And he would understand. But Noctis and Reina… 

 

“...I could not even be honest with my own children…” his voice sounded bitter even in his own ears.

 

Clarus sighed, grimacing. He would send his own children into the world, as well, unknowing, with hardly a farewell. He understood.

 

“It’s not something that can simply be said. When the time came, I couldn’t do it either. But there are no right words for such a circumstance—to send them on their way, that is.”

 

Regis shook his head. “I have done worse than avoid the truth. I have perpetuated a lie; I have actively hidden this from my daughter.”

 

“You did what was necessary. If you want Reina to see her twenty-first birthday then the  _ only  _ way is that lie. You know full well she would never leave if you told her,” Clarus said, serious and earnest. 

 

He spoke only the truth and Regis knew it; Noctis might have been convinced—he had his duty to think of. And Gladiolus and the others, they would all go, even knowing they could never return. But Reina… as obedient as she was to him, that stubborn streak he has passed to her would certainly have reared its head if she knew.

 

“You’ve done more than enough, Regis. They’re no longer children. Someday they will understand.”

 

He didn’t look at his friend, even with Clarus’ continued assurance. His eyes were fixed on the distant lights outside the window, but he wasn’t really seeing them. If he could have seen into the future, what would it have held? 

 

“Will they?” He asked. He shook his head, still not looking up. “Noctis… he will find his path. He will understand, someday. But Reina… I fear for her, Clarus.”

 

Finally he pulled his eyes from the window and gazed, instead, at Clarus.

 

“She’s strong. She’ll pull through,” Clarus said.

 

Would she?

 

Sweet, fiery Reina. She would have faced down the whole imperial fleet without flinching… but only because she knew he was standing behind her. If he wasn’t—if he never would be, again—would she crumble? 

 

“She’ll have to,” said Clarus, when Regis failed to respond.

 

The king dropped his gaze once more. “I suppose she shall have to.”

 

Perhaps he would never find out. Or, worse yet, perhaps he would have to watch with no way to reach her, no way to change anything. He would prefer not knowing.

 

Any further encouragement Clarus might have offered was cut short when the door opened and the princess herself entered. 

 

Sweet Reina. She was still wearing her dress from the day, her hair a bit disheveled, her carefully applied makeup a bit smudged, and though she tired, wilting under the weight of the long day, her eyes were bright when they settled on him. It didn’t matter what sort of day he was having—no matter how long or how trying it had been, the way she lit up the room when she walked in always made him smile. He did, now; it was no good fighting it, even though in the back of his mind he knew it would be the last time—or perhaps even more  _ because  _ he knew.

 

Sweet Reina. He wished so many good things for her. If only he could have been around to see them.

  
  


He smiled when he saw her, like she was worth smiling over, just by virtue of her existence. She probably looked a right mess—run down, worried and exhausted, frazzled to bits and pieces. And still he smiled. She smiled back. How could she not? It was contagious; a smile from her father had always caused that bubbling happiness in her stomach.

 

“Ah, Reina. Through with your packing?” 

 

“Yes, Father.”

 

She had packed—if it could be called that. Mostly she had opened a bag and dumped an armful of clothes in. Perhaps she would even open it later and discover there were some pieces that matched. Perhaps she wouldn’t. At that point in her life, she—uncharacteristically—couldn’t have cared less. Her naginata and bow were along, as well. Apparently the land outside Insomnia was thick with monsters during the day and daemons by night.

 

“I will take my leave of you,” Clarus bowed. He made for the door but paused as he passed Reina. After a moment’s hesitation, he clasped her shoulder warmly.

 

“Safe travels, Princess Reina. I know you will do well by Noctis on the road ahead.”

 

“Thank you, Clarus,” she said, a little surprised at his unexpected geniality. “Take care of my father while I am away.”

 

“But of course; I guard him with my life.”

 

That was the place of the Shield, so she didn’t think it odd, at the time. Later, she would wonder if it meant he had known, too.

 

Clarus went, leaving her alone with her father once more. They stared at each other for a while, neither one wanting to say anything—or knowing what to say. She didn’t want to go. In fact, she wanted very few things  _ less _ . But he knew that and still he asked her to go. So she would, like the eager-to-please, ever-faithful daughter that she was.

 

“May I stay here, tonight?” Reina asked, breaking the silence at last.

 

“I would not dream of saying no,” he said. “Indeed; I insist upon it and I will not take no for an answer.”

 

Reina smiled in spite of herself. He smiled back. It felt like something precious that needed to be held onto, and neither one wanted to give it up. But eventually they did move toward the other room. She helped him shed his formal wear; though she wondered, she didn’t ask who would help him tomorrow if his hands shook in exhaustion.

 

When everything was sorted and her father was settled—and only then—she borrowed a spare shirt from his wardrobe and went to take a shower, letting her hair down and scrubbing away her mask until just Reina was left. Once she was clean and dry, standing in her father’s over-large shirt with her wet hair falling nearly to her waist, she returned to the bedroom. She padded silently across to turn out the lights until just the one at his bedside remained, then turned to find him watching her, a little smile on his face. 

 

She smoothed her hands down the front of her shirt—his shirt, really—feeling suddenly self-conscious.

 

“I look silly, I know. Not very dignified—not very fitting of my position.”

 

“No, no. It is not that—or it is, yet you have formed the wrong conclusion.”

 

“What, then?”

 

“It reminds me of how much you have grown.”

 

She made a face at him, putting her hands on her hips. “Hardly any.”

 

He smiled, but continued all the same. “You used to wear my shirts, such a long time ago, when you were quite small. They were so long on you that you could hardly walk for tripping on the hem.”

 

Reina dropped her hands, a smile replacing the teasing glare on her face. She rounded the bed and climbed in on the other side as her father made space for her.

 

“You were always a self-sufficient child—that much has not changed. You never asked for anything, never complained… and yet… I had no notion when you were young of what a strong young woman you would grow into.”

 

She settled in beside him, folding her arms over his chest and resting her chin on them so she could look up at him. It was uncommon for him to talk like that—nostalgic—but she would have listened to him talk about anything. If only she could have made the night longer.

 

“To behold you now… you have the strength to take on the world, if you will it.”

 

“Father…” she wanted to object, but it seemed wrong to crush his bright views.

 

“Reina. I know not what your future holds, but I do know that you will excel, whatever you do.”

 

They were silent for another moment, neither one wanting to fall asleep or even suggest it. Again it was Reina who broke the silence.

 

“Don’t send me away, Father. Let me stay with you.”

 

“Ah, Reina. You know I cannot.” He  _ did  _ look regretful. He smoothed her hair back, searching her face as if he meant to memorize it.

 

“You’re the king—you can choose what you want. Noctis will understand—“

 

“No, Reina. You know better.” His tone was too warm to be chiding, but his words suggested it. “The king does not have that freedom; I must choose what is best, not simply what I want.”

 

She did know. It didn’t make it any easier.

 

“Do you want me to stay?”

 

He sighed, brushing his fingers over her cheek. “All else equal, I should choose to keep you here in an instant. I shall miss you terribly—everything about you. But you must go with Noctis. Please do not make this any more difficult than it already is.”

 

She fell silent, biting back tears. How selfish of her, not to think that it hurt him as well, not to realize she was just making things harder for him when she argued. She buried her face in his chest, wishing desperately that she could stay—wishing that if she wished it hard enough, it would come true. He held her tight, smoothing his hand over her hair and down her back.

 

“I love you and your brother with all my heart. I always have and i always shall—do not forget that.”

 

Reina lifted her face to look at him. “I won’t, Father.”

 

“Good. Now catch what little rest you can while you can.” He reached for the last light and turned it off, plunging them into darkness.

 

Reina didn’t move.

 

“I don’t want to.” If she slept, the night would melt away all the faster. Better that she stay awake to lengthen the time.

 

He pressed her face between his hands, brushing his thumbs over her cheeks again.

 

“I know, my dear. But do it, all the same.”

 

Reluctantly, she settled her head on his chest, not willing to give up that space. He wrapped his arms around her and they were both silent, but she didn’t shut her eyes. She kept them resolutely open, listening to the sound of his heart beating beneath her ear. She felt the steady rise and fall of his chest, listening for him to fall asleep so she could sit up—there would be less risk of falling asleep if she sat through the night—but he never did. Leastways, he didn’t before the weight of her eyelids got the better of her, before the steady thump of his heart lulled her into closing them, and the slow motion of his hand over her back soothed her to sleep.

 

And she slept. Her last night with her father.


	49. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WAIT.
> 
> STOP.
> 
> HOLD ON.
> 
> This is the last chapter of Fractured. Before you read any further, please ensure that you have the proper equipment:
> 
> * Your heart (please ensure that all strings are cut to prevent unnecessary pain when it is torn out and thrown on the floor). If you do not have a heart, you may skip the following and begin reading the chapter.
> 
> * One (1) box of tissues
> 
> * Approximately eight to ten (8 - 10) minutes of sad music.  
> If you do not have the requisite music, I recommend (all lyric-free): Insight XIV by Julien Marchal, Þú Ert Jörðin by Ólafur Arnalds, and Frysta by Ólafur Arnalds
> 
> When you are suitably equipped, please proceed past the solid line and read on.

######  _ 16-17 May, 756: _

 

He had always meant to die for Lucis.

 

Nearly thirty years ago, when he had first put on the Ring of the Lucii, he had known it would be the end of him. The Caelums never lived to see their grandchildren.

 

As the years wore on, he could feel death growing closer. He had watched as he grew older while his friends remained much the same; his body had withered, his strength had failed him, and, slowly but surely, he knew the end was coming. 

 

But he  _ had _ hoped for a few more years.

 

A few more years of being drained dry upholding the Wall, a few more years of suffering indignity after indignity, a few more years of wasting away, and, yes, a few more years of chronic pain and growing weakness. He prayed for those years. He begged for them. Because even if his legs refused to support him any longer, even if his lungs gave out and his body turned against him, it would mean a few more years with his children.

 

Now, even that was to be robbed from him.

 

Still, he had always meant to die. If he was to give his life sooner rather than later, and in doing so spare the lives of his children and many others, then so be it. He would do his duty. And, in time, so would Noctis and Reina.

 

It had been three days.

 

Three days since he had seen his children off, since he had put his foot down one final time and pushed Reina after her brother. Three days and most of it had been so busy that he hardly had a moment to think about them, to worry or to wonder. When things were quieter at night, though, he did think. When he had lain awake the first two nights in the dark of his room, feeling the empty space next to him.

 

When had the last time that he had fallen asleep without her been? His daughter, ever-faithful, always there, just waiting to be needed. He hadn’t slept much, those two nights. But he had held onto his phone, sending a text in response to the ones he had received from Reina. The result was immediate, both nights, as if she had been doing exactly the same thing.

 

His phone had rung.

 

He stared at the glowing screen displaying a picture of his beautiful daughter, smiling up at him. Despite how much he wanted to answer it, he hesitated. If he answered he would hear her voice again and he had already resigned himself to having said goodbye for the last time. He wasn’t sure if he had the strength to do it a second time.

 

_ One… _

 

_ Two… _

 

_ Three…  _

 

“Reina.”

 

He didn’t have the strength not to answer, either.

 

_ “Father _ .” She breathed that one word and the relief was tangible in her voice. He shut his eyes against the empty dark and he could just convince himself that she was still with him, by the sound of her voice.

 

The second night had been just as hard. He hesitated to the third ring before giving in. How could he have her waiting on the line, the offer of hearing her just one more time, and not answer? He couldn’t.

 

She’ll be alright, Clarus had said. Someday she’ll understand.

 

But now Clarus was….  

 

Regis hoped she  _ did  _ understand. 

 

Three days. 

 

Things were quiet enough to think about his children, now, as well. How could he not think about them, as he looked at Lunafreya? She was Noctis’ future—or so he hoped—and even a blind man could have seen some of Reina in her: dutiful, strong, fearless, and devoted—and that look she wore as understanding settled… it wasn’t unlike the look Reina had worn when he’d told her to go with Noctis. 

 

_ Forgive me, my dear… _

 

His hand burned with pain: a terrible throbbing that resonated down his whole arm as his body mourned the loss of fingers. The strip of cloth Lunafreya had tied around his hand was already soaked through with his blood. It didn’t matter, though—it wouldn’t hurt for very much longer. 

 

His knee ached, as well, though it was blotted out by the pain from his hand. His whole body protested the unusual treatment—he hadn’t put it through its paces in years. 

 

A hopeful thought flitted across his mind, subconscious and automatic:

 

_ Reina will soothe it _ .

 

He took it for granted that she would solve those little inconveniences, because she always did. But not this time. 

 

He shut his eyes, allowing himself one last moment of reprieve. It must have been past ten, by then—nearing on eleven at night. She would have been holding her phone, waiting for his message. It would never come. He had no time to say goodbye one last time. How long would she wait before she called him? And when he failed to answer, what then?

 

Regis steeled himself, opening his eyes and looking at Lunafreya through the shimmering barrier. He had known from the start it would end this way. He had known it would be difficult. But there was no turning back.

 

“I know your mother would wish the same as me. That you and Noctis live happily. All those years captive because I failed you. Not again. Locked doors will seal your fate no longer.”

 

“King Regis…” 

 

A rumbling in the hall behind him indicated that Glauca had broken through the lift from the hall above. 

 

“Our hope goes with you, now, Nyx Ulric. Godspeed.”

 

He turned to watch the shower of sparks announcing the imperial general’s arrival. One final stand for the King of Lucis. With so little strength left in his body, he couldn’t hope to match Glauca, let alone win out against him. He couldn’t even muster the energy to summon the armiger one last time. But if he could give enough time to ensure Luna’s safety, if she could escape and see the ring to Noctis… 

 

Regis cast his cane aside. That hateful crutch that had never been any more than a reminder of his failing health—now he was rid of it for good. His last breath would be taken on two feet, standing tall as befitted a king. 

 

The first strike of lightning hit Glauca full in the chest, throwing him backward into the masonry. Magitek versus magic. They never had overcome the weakness to lightning. 

 

Or perhaps they had.

 

The next bolt struck Glauca’s sword and the crimson metal absorbed the brunt of it. Tendrils bounced harmlessly over his Magitek armor—it sparked, it glowed red in places, but Glauca pressed forward no matter what strength Regis threw into his magic. That was all the energy he had and still Glauca came.

 

This was his end. 

 

Grim resignation settled in; he would die for Lucis—for the king that his son would become, for the future his children safeguarded… and for his children themselves, though he was never supposed to admit such a selfish motivation.

 

Glauca deflected. Out of balance on his bad leg, Regis turned to stay upright. He didn’t have the strength to turn back around. It was too late.

 

The blade plunged through the small of his back, emerging clean through his stomach. No words existed to describe that pain—so acute that he couldn’t make a sound, so terrible that it caused a coldness like a frozen pond that was even worse than the initial fire. 

 

His fingers closed around the blade where it protruded from his abdomen, a response that he didn’t remember initiating. A surreal numbness set in. Was that hand even attached to him, anymore? Was his phone really ringing, or was that his imagination, too?

 

Maybe it was stupid, maybe it looked incomprehensible to those watching, but he slipped his other hand consciously into his pocket and drew out his phone. 

 

The screen, glowing, displayed a picture of his beautiful daughter smiling up at him. She was always smiling. She was always making him smile, somehow: the way she always seemed to know exactly what he was thinking even before he did; the way she always had a quip prepared for any of his teasing remarks; that devious little look she wore when she was planning revenge on her brother; the soft peace on her face early in the morning when she slept in, thinking he was still asleep… 

 

The way she looked like his little girl again, wearing his shirt to bed… 

 

The way she turned to fire and ice if anyone dared threaten him, question him—challenge him in any way…

 

Would she ever smile again? 

 

In his hand, his phone vibrated. Even if he had wanted to, he couldn’t have mustered the dexterity to answer it. He watched it even as his vision darkened. The pain was gone, now. He couldn’t even feel the persistent ache in his knee, anymore. 

 

He would never see that smile again. He would never get to experience that surprise he felt every time she said something—did something—that made him believe she really meant it when she said he was her best friend. He would never dance with her again. He would never watch her fall in love, see her dressed in white, walk with her at her wedding—though he had promised he would. He would never hear her play her violin, again.

 

And he had never gotten to convince her how much she meant. His little girl, grown up believing that she was the extra child, that she didn’t fit anywhere… he had never told her that she was his home.

 

_ Sweet Reina, my dearest daughter: live. For me: live. _

 

Her face was the last he saw. Her smile.

 

When he fell forward, the phone slipped from his fingers. It lay face up on the ground, displaying a picture of his beautiful daughter, smiling up at no one. And it rang.

 

_ One… _

 

_ Two… _

 

_ Three… _

 

_ Four…  _

 

Voicemail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of this series is incoming. I'll post the first chapter tomorrow. Thanks so much for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> Some character notes:
> 
> Regis doesn't get much screen time in the source material, so I hoped to bring him more depth and flavor with this. Obviously, some of this is changed by the addition of a second child into the mix, but I tried to paint him as a good man who did the best with what he was given, though he often wished he could just be a dad. 
> 
> It might be easy, earlier on in the story, to assume (as Reina does) that he loves Noctis more, but little could be farther from the truth. He caters to Noctis more, perhaps, but this is in part due to not really knowing HOW to cater to Reina. In spite of being quiet and withdrawn following his eighth year, Noctis still had wants that were possible to parse out (most of the time). Before the daemon attack it was especially easy. Reina, however, put a great deal of effort into whatever situation she found herself in, hoping that perfection would draw attention. Unfortunately it did much the opposite. She excelled, and so Regis thought 'here is a child who is content,' and he let her be. Only later, after it seemed much too late to fix, he realized what this had done to her.
> 
>  
> 
> At this juncture in the narrative it should be (unless I have failed in getting the point across) clear that Reina presents are a purely selfless person. I don't say this in order to lift her up or put her on a pedestal and parade around her virtues. Indeed, it isn't a virtue at all. 
> 
> There are two sorts of selflessness; the first is what we hail as a virtue: a person who is capable of assessing their own needs versus the needs of the others and choosing to satisfy the needs of the others instead. The second type is more worrisome, and this is what Reina is: a person who has learned, usually through a lifetime of experiences and - in particular - an unfortunate childhood, that their needs are objectively less important than the needs of others. This does two things. It makes them much more inclined to put others before themselves, simply because their sense of self-worth is so low, and it also completely disconnects them from their own needs. These people cannot understand, much less explain, their own personal needs. 
> 
> Whereas a mentally well-adjusted (at least in comparison) person might come home after a stressful day and say "I just need to lock myself in my room with a pint of ice cream and some loud music," Reina has no concept of what she needs. And so, instead of taking that time for herself - relaxing, decompressing, letting go of whatever negative emotions drove her to eat a whole pint of ice cream in one sitting in the first place (not that this is healthy behavior, but on the very occasional occasion it's not especially unhealthy, either) - she simply carries on. That is what she has done her entire life. 
> 
> When she is older, we see some of Regis trying to push her to recognize what SHE wants, to try to convince her to take time for herself, but it's too deeply buried by this time and so, instead, she's only puzzled by his insistence that she attend school or go out with her friends. Eventually, he gives up, convincing himself - perhaps erroneously - that she is doing what she wants, after all. 
> 
> Then again, this sort of self-satisfying, unintentional negligence is what made her the way she is in the first place.
> 
> Only time will tell what this does to her in the future.


End file.
